


Aite

by callmejude



Category: Samurai Champloo
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Canon-Typical Violence, Collars, Grooming, Hurt/Comfort, Light Bondage, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Near Death Experiences, Past Sexual Abuse, Possessive Behavior, Sharing Clothes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-14
Updated: 2017-04-14
Packaged: 2018-10-18 18:30:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 35,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10622646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/callmejude/pseuds/callmejude
Summary: Mugen is used to dealing with it on his own. Now he doesn't really have a choice.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I blame the movie _Silence_ for inspiring me to rewatch Samurai Champloo after ten years. None of this would've happened, otherwise. I don't have an excuse for writing a/b/o, though. That's on me.

No one knows. No one who matters. Mugen never sticks around long enough for anyone to find out. Omegas can’t be swordsmen, or at least they aren’t supposed to be. Back on Ryukyu he could’ve been beheaded for it. Mukuro said it would be their little secret, that he’d take care of him. And then he didn’t. So now, no one knows. But he’s been travelling with Jin and Fuu for long enough now that he’s starting to worry. With everyone he’s met since Mukuro and Kohza, he’s always gone before the heat comes.

It’s just before the new moon that Mugen creeps out, stepping gingerly over the sleeping figures of Jin and Fuu and slipping out the door. He can find them again, if he wants to, but he can’t be here now. Fuu is a Beta or possibly unaligned — it’s hard for Mugen to tell the difference at her age — but Jin is a threat. He’ll only make it worse.

The light outside is too faint to see clearly, and the sticky summer air is difficult to breathe. Mugen hasn’t made it too far into the woods before he realizes this is uncommon, even for the summer. His chest is heaving, and his head is starting to spin. As careful as he’d tried to be, his heat is hitting earlier than he’d expected. His legs feel packed with wet sand, and his body is too heavy to run. He drops to his hands and knees. Heaving with panic, Mugen tries to keep moving, but his eyesight is blurring. He won’t make it much further. This is happening here. 

There’s the soft snap of a twig behind him. Panic stabs through the fog. Mugen draws his sword, flinging his useless body around to face Jin standing over him. There’s a hint of pity on his face, and Mugen snarls.

“Get away from me.”

Jin says nothing. He does not move.

The world lurches sickeningly as Mugen forces himself to his feet. He can feel Jin’s breathing like it’s in his own chest, pushing in and out in time with his heartbeat, and tries to shake the feeling loose. He swings his sword with his full weight and stumbles. Jin steps aside, easily avoiding the hit, and Mugen lunges forward again, collapsing to his knee with his blade at Jin’s feet. Jin steps onto the flat edge of the sword.

“You’re going to harm yourself.”

His voice is infuriatingly gentle, and makes Mugen’s head swim. He rips his sword from the dirt and flings it haphazardly at Jin’s ankles.

“Fucking — _followed me,_ “ Mugen gasps against the weight of his lungs. 

His vision tilts as he tries to attack, and he misses Jin entirely. His sword is buried in the ground again by the time the world blinks back, but Mugen can’t remember dropping it. He tries again to lift it, but the effort tears the air from his lungs. He can barely use it to lift himself. Sweat is dripping down his back as he fumbles for the knife tucked into the bottom of his scabbard, he swings himself forward, but Jin catches his wrist easily. The touch drops Mugen back to his knees. His mind goes blank, and Jin’s voice seeps into the warm heavy silence in his brain.

“I did not mean to follow you. Your scent is suffocating.”

“Sorry,” Mugen grinds out.

The apology must startle him, because Jin lets go of his wrist. Mugen whines, static puncturing the calm in his head. He reaches for Jin before he catches himself and wrenches back from him. Why is he even here?

“Get _away_ from me.”

Jin frowns. “I won’t leave you like this.”

Humiliated, Mugen bears his teeth against the strain in his throat. The knife is still in his hand. He swings it warningly in front of him, but Jin doesn’t even flinch. When Mugen’s arm falls limp from the effort, Jin holds out his hand.

“Give that to me.” His voice is firm and quiet and every other thought fades from Mugen’s head. Shivering, he hands it over. Jin keeps eye contact as he takes it. “I’ll give it back to you once this has passed.”

“Stop — talkin’ to me like — like I’m an idiot.”

Jin doesn’t respond, picking Mugen’s sword out of the mud and laying it down beside him, out of Mugen’s reach. “Give me your sheath,” he says gently. 

Mugen growls, flailing forward to scratch at Jin like a cat. “They’re mine,” he snaps, voice hoarse, “It’s mine. You can’t — take it just ‘cause I’m —” 

Jin shushes him, taking hold of his wrist again. “I’m not taking them from you. You don’t have the strength to carry them now.”

“Fuck you,” Mugen wheezes, wrapping his hands protectively around the strap of his scabbard. His robe is drenched in sweat, rubbing raw against his knuckles. He’s shaking and clumsy, and shame explodes up the back of his neck. “It’s — it’s mine.”

Tisking, Jin kneels in front of him. “I won’t keep them from you,” he assures quietly. “I’m only trying to help.” 

Mugen tries to crawl away, but thin, quick fingers unclasp the scabbard from his chest before he can. The touch makes Mugen heavy — solid and still — and he falls quiet. 

Sliding the blades into the sheath, Jin murmurs, “You must know she would not have let us leave without you.”

If Mugen is supposed to respond to that, he doesn’t. He’s forgotten why Jin is so close, and through the haze in his brain, he can only focus on the sweat beading along Jin’s brow. 

His hand reaches out to touch it, but Jin twitches away from him.

“Not your — type, huh?” Mugen tries to joke. It comes out more like sulking.

Jin goes to shoulder Mugen’s scabbard, but hesitates, instead setting it down next to Mugen without looking at him. “We were taught restraint through exposure, at the _dojo_.” 

He means slave Omegas. They had tried to make Mugen one when he was young, back on Ryukyu. The memory makes his stomach twist with nausea, but he smirks, trying to play it off. “Any of ‘em — ever get to you?”

Jin doesn’t answer. He shifts to one knee, preparing to get to his feet before he turns to Mugen. “Can you stand?”

Mugen means to scoff, but it sounds more like a sob as it leaves his mouth. “You… fuckin’ kiddin’ me?” Jin swallows.

“I can’t carry you.”

Another breathless gasp of a laugh. “Some — badass _samurai_ you are.”

Jin shakes his head. “I meant that it’s difficult to touch you.” It’s too hard to follow what he’s saying anymore. Mugen reaches behind himself, but his sheath is gone. With nothing else, he grabs a handful of earth and chucks it him. 

“Just fuckin’ — leave.”

Jin inspects the dirt fallen onto his _tabi_. “No.”

“I’ve done — done this way for… years, alright?” Mugen heaves, “You’re jus’ makin’ it worse.” 

His tongue is thick in his mouth, slurring his words together. Shame is like a weight on Mugen’s spine as slick runs down his leg. He can hear Mukuro’s voice hissing in his ear, _“You’re no good as a slave and they won’t let you be a swordsman. They find out, they’re just gonna kill you.”_

Jin takes a deep breath sucked through his teeth. He tenses hard, leaning away from Mugen, and rejection stings at the back of Mugen’s throat.

He means to move himself further away from Jin, try to clear his head, but he can only manage to pull himself closer. He hates that the last rational thought he has is always the mortification that swallows him whole, especially being seen this way by someone else.

Mugen screws his eyes shut. “Get — get outta here.”

Jin is silent as Mugen crawls closer toward him. Teeth gritted, he finally admits, “I can’t.”

“ _Please,_ ” Mugen gags, losing track of what he’s asking for. Jin is crouching close to him, hand stretched out to him, and Mugen buts up against it. He just needs to be touched. Why hasn’t Jin touched him? Jin gasps as Mugen hoists himself into his lap, toppling them back into the dirt. 

“Mugen —!”

His name slides down Mugen’s spine like honey. Keening, he buries his face in Jin’s neck, nipping against his pulse. Jin’s hand tangles in his hair, and Mugen bites down hard. His body is shaking so hard it feels as if Jin is holding him together. His skin is on fire and Jin’s hands are cool on his face, trying to hold him still.

“Fuck me,” Mugen whines, twisting helplessly in Jin’s grip, “Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me please —”

Jin flips them over, pressing Mugen’s wrists into the dirt. Hair is sticking to his face with sweat, and his eyes are looking past Mugen, glaring at the ground beneath them. Mugen whines, bucking up against Jin and wrapping his legs around his waist.

His clothes are sticking to him, drenched in sweat and slick, and Jin lets go of Mugen’s wrists to wrap his arms around him, tucking his face against Mugen’s throat. Whining, Mugen claws at Jin’s _hakama_ , biting at his robe until Jin pulls him back by his hair.

“Get off me.”

Mugen jumps back, whimpering, and Jin gets to his feet. He sets his swords down next to Mugen’s and pulls off his clothes. Mugen reaches for him as he kneels back down, but Jin slaps his hand away, ripping his robe and shirt over his head before attacking the fastening of his shorts.

With Jin looming over him, Mugen grabs onto his hair, tearing at the band that keeps it back from his face. The band comes apart in Mugen’s hand, and Jin’s hair falls over his face. Jin barely seems to notice, shaking it out of his eyes as he rips Mugen’s shorts off of him. 

Mugen tries to curl around him, but Jin twists away and nips his neck, busying himself with fussing their clothes into a pile.

“Wait.” 

Mugen blinks, brain too fogged to ask. Jin told him to wait, so he sits perched on his knees, a whine rumbling deep in his throat. When the clothes lay in a flat circle in the grass, Jin grabs Mugen by the neck and throws him onto it. Mugen sits up, squirming against Jin’s hips, licking a stripe up his neck. 

Grunting, Jin grabs him by the shoulders and flips him onto his stomach, splaying his hand just below Mugen’s neck. Mugen is begging and swearing, twisting helpless underneath Jin’s hand, but Jin is silent as he mounts him.

It’s been years since anyone’s touched him at all when he’s like this, and Mugen can’t remember how to breathe. Jin’s hands are cool and soft on his skin, holding him down, petting his hair. He can feel Jin’s heartbeat in his ribs and pounding at the nape of his neck. Mugen’s vision is white around the edges. He can’t hear over the heartbeat pounding in his ears. He can’t tell anymore if it belongs to him or Jin. Everything’s muted except for Jin, moving against him, setting every inch of him on fire. 

He’s rutting back helplessly against Jin’s hips when Jin starts to swell in him. A whine leaves Mugen’s lips like a kicked dog, and Jin folds over him, hand shaking as it grabs for purchase in Mugen’s wild hair. Nails claw against his scalp, and Mugen’s vision rolls over white as he comes.

Jin’s teeth sink neatly into Mugen’s throat as he locks into him, a wordless rumble vibrating in his chest. Every inch of Mugen is raw and numb all at once. Blindly, he reaches behind him to snatch a handful of Jin’s hair. It’s soft, drenched in sweat, and Mugen tugs him closer. Jin shifts against him, nails latched into his skin, and Mugen feels it flash up and down his spine as his body racks with another orgasm.

Vision greying and voice raw, Mugen tries to cry out with his face pressed into his own arm. If Jin is still capable of speech, he doesn’t try, snarling instead. He wraps his hands around Mugen’s wrists and splays them out above his head. Pale fingers clench tight around his tattoos, and Mugen can’t tear his focus away. 

Abruptly, fingernails dig into Mugen’s wrists hard enough to bleed, and Jin cries out, ripping one hand away to press Mugen face-down into his robe as he comes, filling Mugen until it starts to run hot down his leg. 

Pressed against Jin’s robe, Mugen gasps wetly to catch his breath. The warm scent of him soothes the burn under Mugen’s skull. He loses himself, fading in and out of his own body. Jin is still coming, still touching him, and Mugen lets himself slip out of consciousness.

He comes to moments later, shaking breath in his ear. The sky above them is still dark, but the trees above them make it impossible to find the moon. Mugen feels Jin’s tongue cleaning the sweat from his neck. When he tries to move, Jin nips the bite on Mugen’s throat and curls over him.

“Sleep.”

Mugen does.

As the sun rises, Mugen wakes to a blinding pain behind his eyes and a dead weight on his chest. Every nerve in Mugen’s body is wrung sore. Groaning, he shoves Jin off of him.

“Fuck,” he grumbles, “my _head._ ”

Abruptly jarred from sleep, Jin bolts up. He rubs an eye blearily and glances around the nest. He stops and glances back toward the town. He doesn’t speak, but Mugen assumes he’d left his glasses back at the inn. He’s always quiet, but it feels different now. Mugen feels small, judged. His eyes drop to the ground, and he gets a better look at their nest of clothes underneath him. Despite himself, Mugen smirks. He’s heard of it happening with older generations, decades ago, but he’s never actually witnessed an Alpha make a nest for an Omega before fucking them. He tamps down the latent drive to curl into Jin and fall back asleep. 

Like a sudden wave, the humiliation is back, tight around his throat and squeezing at his lungs. Flushed red down to his ribs, he snatches his sword from next to the nest and gets to his feet as steadily as he can manage. 

“So much for all that fancy _dojo_ restraint.”

Jin remains silent. He gets to his feet, and steps onto the grass before pulling his clothes from the nest. As he dresses himself, Mugen finds the tie he’d ripped from Jin’s hair and kicks it at his feet. Jin does not look at Mugen as he picks it up.

“It was very different,” he admits finally.

Mugen grits his teeth. “What was?”

Jin ties his hair without answering. Mugen watches, waiting. Finally, toeing into his sandals, Jin answers, “You.”

Something tightens in Mugen’s chest. Forcing a sardonic grin, he hisses, “Couldn’t resist me, huh?”

Jin does not look at him. He’s quiet for several seconds too long. “No.”

The smile falls from Mugen’s face. There’s a twinge of pride and fear that twist together deep in Mugen’s stomach before he shakes it off and stomps into his filthy shorts. 

“Yeah, well, next time don’t fuckin’ follow me.”

Jin says nothing. 

“And where the fuck do you get off taking my damn sword?” Mugen’s hand wraps protectively around the strap of his scabbard as he speaks, as if Jin will try to steal them again. Mukuro’s voice is buzzing in his head. “Who fucking does that? It’s _mine._ I should kill you right now for that.”

He barely has the strength to carry the sword on his back, but it’s possible Jin doesn’t even know that if he’s only ever been around slaves. Jin’s hand rests on the hilt of his sword, but he doesn’t speak. It’s infuriating. Mugen fumbles for the knife behind his back, and Jin watches him, still.

When Mugen finally manages to get his knife free, Jin reaches for him empty-handed. Panicked, Mugen flings himself backward.

“Don’t touch me!”

Jin frowns, leaving his hand hanging between them. “Put the knife away.”

“ _No,_ ” Mugen shouts, even as his grip loosens automatically on the hilt. His fingers ache to drop it, and he has to lock his jaw against the effort to hold it tight. “It’s mine. I have every right to kill you, followin’ me like that.”

Jin reaches for Mugen again, and Mugen slices wildly at the air in front of him, stumbling backward. 

Before he hits the ground, Jin grabs hold of his wrist, keeping him upright. Mugen’s mind goes blank. Jin had wanted him to drop the knife, so he does. He should’ve done it earlier. He should’ve done it when Jin asked.

By the time Jin releases, Mugen is on his knees. His mind is still hazy, barely clear enough to feel the shame crawling up his spine. 

“I _said_ don’t _fuckin’ touch me,_ ” Mugen snarls, grappling for his knife lying in the dirt. 

Jin stands back from him as Mugen hoists himself back up. He can’t quite meet his eyes, and Mugen brandishes his knife again.

“Don’t give me that look, like I broke your damn heart,” he snaps, shaking the fog from his head. “I’ve spent the last five years doin’ this shit on my own. You could’ve been any fool with a knot in your cock. But look at _you._ All that fancy _dojo_ trainin’ and you can barely keep your hands to yourself.”

Jin scowls at him. “The training of the _dojo_ was quite different. It’s rather simple to ignore the incessant mewlings of heat-ridden teenagers.” He takes a step and Mugen steps back to keep the same distance between them. “You, however, _attacked_ me.”

“Yeah, well, like I said, you could’ve been anybody," Mugen repeats. "You got lucky.”

Jin doesn’t seem convinced. “If you want to keep your status a secret, I suggest we wash ourselves before returning to town.”

Mugen frowns, but he’s right. He walks defiantly ahead of Jin until they find a river not much farther into the woods. As they reach the bank, he cannonballs into the water fully-clothed. Jin tisks, carefully laying his swords on the riverbank and removing his _tabi_ and clothes before sliding into the water from the edge. Mugen can feel Jin’s eyes on him and dunks back underwater. There’s an itch at his skin, nervous and needy at the back of his neck, but he ignores it.

As much as he hates it — and he’d never admit it — Mugen is grateful. Without an Alpha, Mugen would’ve been stuck defenseless and needy in those woods for about a week. Now he’s just got to deal with a bit of dizziness and latent need he can wave off as illness and tuck into bed early for the next couple days. As long as he doesn’t touch any Alphas, he’ll be fine. He rinses the sweat from his hair and looks down at the water lapping at his chest. They’re going to have to come up with an excuse as to why they’re soaked, but he’ll leave that to Jin. Whatever he comes up with will be better than the truth.

The quiet lap of water behind him causes Mugen to look over his shoulder. Jin is standing behind him, looking at Mugen curiously, and Mugen is reminded of the fascinated disgust that Mukuro had on his face when he first found him shivering under a tree. 

Mugen glares back at him. “Stop fuckin’ lookin’ at me like that.” 

Jin startles at the sound of his voice. His eyes are strangely scrutinous and Mugen takes a step back, scorned. Jin drops his gaze again.

“Your scent is still quite strong.”

“No shit,” Mugen huffs, dunking under again. Jin is still there when he resurfaces. “Better?”

“No.” Jin’s voice sounds strained, low in his throat.

“You’re a fuckin’ mess,” Mugen says over his shoulder, splashing his face a little more. “Wonder what your _dojo_ master would think if he knew how quick you got sweet on me.”

He sees Jin cringe out of the corner of his eye and smirks, reveling in hitting a nerve. Mugen turns to face him. “As much as you probably hate to hear it, this ain’t happenin’ again. I don’t do cuffs or collars.”

Jin’s eyes darken, and Mugen bears his teeth. 

“Stop lookin’ at me like that!” He reaches his hand over his head and grabs the hilt of his sword in warning. “Back off, alright? Nobody fuckin’ mates me.”

Unimpressed, Jin slips under the water, shaking his hair out of his face as he resurfaces. He doesn’t spare Mugen a glance as he wades to the bank of the river. 

“We should head back to the inn,” he calls out as he redresses himself. Mugen’s grip on his sword falls away. “It’s daylight. The girl will start to worry.”

They have nothing to say to each other as they return to town. When Fuu asks where they’ve been and why they’re soaked, Mugen looks to Jin.

Jin shrugs. “The idiot nearly drowned trying to wash the blood from his clothes.”

Fuu huffs, but has no further questions, apparently believing Mugen could die trying to clean himself. As she leads them down the road, Mugen hears her grumble to herself about their combined uselessness. He fumes, but says nothing.

For most of the day, Mugen walks ahead of Fuu and Jin. Jin makes no effort to close the distance, and lets Mugen sit with Fuu between them whenever they stop to rest. If Fuu notices either of them acting different, she at least has the sense to keep it to herself. Mugen can’t help but wonder if she knows, playing dumb for their benefit. He tries his best to put the thought out of his mind. He doesn’t like the idea of her being that smart.

He tries his best not to think of anything from the past few hours.

They find an inn at nightfall, and Mugen settles onto the _tatami_ mat on the far side of the room.

“You stay the hell away from me,” he tells Jin. 

Jin doesn’t respond, turned silently on his side. Mugen can’t see his face, but he refuses to believe that Jin is asleep and wraps protectively around his sword and sheath. He finally falls asleep facing the wall.

When Mugen wakes with a jolt in the middle of the night, he’s tensed and drenched in sweat. It takes a moment for the room to fade in around him, Jin curled warmly against his side.

“Asshole,” Mugen snaps, kicking him awake. Jin blinks at him, sitting up confusedly. “I told you to stay away from me, you damn lech.”

Jin sweeps the hair from his eyes and points silently at the empty _tatami_ mat behind Mugen, his sword lying forgotten in the middle of it.

“It seems you came over here on your own,” Jin says flatly. 

Mugen feels the bottom of his stomach fall away. It feels like an accusation, but Jin only rolls back onto his other side, facing away from Mugen.

“You can stay here if you like.”

“Oh, fuck you.” Mugen gets to his feet and stomps back to his own mat. It takes him longer than he’d like to fall back asleep.

But as the rising sun filters through the rice paper doors of their room, Mugen again wakes up on the wrong _tatami_ mat. He sits up with a start and Jin’s blue robe slips from his shoulders. But Jin isn’t there. Just the robe in his lap and his swords, placed carefully beside Mugen’s at the head of the mat. Confused, Mugen turns to see Jin curled half-dressed on the mat Mugen had chosen, facing away from him as he sleeps. 

Slowly, he waits for the scene to make sense, but it doesn’t. Mugen glances between the swords lying beside the mat and Jin sound asleep on the other side of the room. Hesitantly, Mugen runs his fingers over the hilt of one of Jin’s swords, as if making sure they’re real. Nothing is stopping Mugen from killing Jin right now, other than all that honorable crap Jin never shuts up about.

Honor isn’t something Mugen believes he’s ever been held to. Even if he has, he knows he shouldn’t be.

Frowning, Mugen scrambles to his feet. He snatches up the armful of swords and Jin’s robe and stomps over to him, unceremoniously dumping Jin’s robe on his head. 

When Jin shuffles awake, Mugen snaps, “What’s the big idea?”

It takes a moment for Jin to understand what Mugen is saying. He slips his robe back on without looking up.

“You seemed incapable of sleeping here, for all your bolstering,” he says, tying his hair up. “I assumed it was my scent leading you toward me.”

Mugen narrows his eyes, but before he can speak, Jin interrupts him.

“You were going to be unhappy with me either way, I considered this the lesser of two evils.”

There’s nothing to say to that except prove him right. Deflated, Mugen looks at the jumble of Jin’s swords and his own hanging from their straps in his hand.

“I did not want you to think I was stealing them from you again.”

“What about yours?”

Jin takes them gently from Mugen’s hand and ties them to his side. “I felt this would make us even. It won’t happen again.”

Mugen glares at him, throwing his own sword over his shoulder. 

“Asshole,” he grumbles under his breath. 

Jin smiles as he toes into his sandals. 

It’s harder to ignore as they set out on the second day. Mugen aches, every inch of him a sore reminder. It’s been so long since Mugen has been with an Alpha he’s forgotten how it feels when the high starts to wear off. It’s as if his bones are creaking as he moves. Every step he takes reminds him of being fucked face-down in a mess of Jin’s clothes. 

He hates this, hates how fucking _good_ it felt to give into the heat, how much he wants it again. It isn’t fair. It’s weak. He’s been fine since he left Mukuro and Kohza behind. It’s Jin’s fault for following him like a damn creep. A guy like that should have more control, shouldn’t he? Mugen barely even knows him. What was he thinking following after him when he could smell him, anyway? 

But it felt so good, being held down, teeth sinking into his neck. All Mugen knows of Jin is that he’s a stuffy bastard with no sense of humor who can go a whole day without saying two words. But that night in the woods he’d been someone else entirely. And whether he likes it or not, Mugen wants desperately to please him.

“Mugen?”

Fuu is staring at him expectantly. Feeling caught, Mugen glares at her. “ _What?_ ”

“You’ve just been really quiet the past few days,” Fuu asks cautiously, awkwardly stirring at her soup. “I was just wondering if something was wrong.”

Mugen stuffs a dumpling in his mouth. “Well what about _him?_ ” he huffs through a mouthful of food, “He’s been quiet forever and you ain’t wondered shit.”

“If you’re going to speak with such vulgarity at least do us the favor of swallowing your food before you do so,” Jin snaps at him without looking up.

Glaring, Mugen swallows. He should’ve spit it out. Maybe if he’d spit it at Jin, he would’ve done something. Look up. Scold him. Draw his sword. Touch him. Mugen picks grumpily at his remaining dumplings.

The day before, all Mugen wanted was to be ignored by Jin. Now, as they traipse through the sun and wind a respectable distance from each other, Mugen wonders why he hasn’t bothered to say anything to him. The curiosity eats at him down the road. Mugen’s infuriated to realize he wants to know if Jin enjoyed himself; if Jin’s struggling with wanting to do it again. Mugen would never admit anything. He would mock Jin if he were to say a word about it. But he wants him to, anyway. Jin disgraced his own training. Mugen just wants to know if he was worth it.

He doesn’t ask. Instead, Mugen sets about testing Jin’s limits, as well as Fuu’s. Any time either Jin or Fuu speak to him — Fuu, mostly; Jin barely says anything to him — Mugen snaps at them to leave him alone. He wants desperately to start a fight. To make them regret that he’s here. To get away from them.

“It’s getting a little late. Do we have any money left?”

“How the hell should _I_ know? Carry your own damn purse.”

He tosses Fuu’s pouch of money at her head, furious when she catches it easily. Jin looks over to glare at him, but says nothing.

Why won’t he fucking say anything?

Fuu looks frustrated at the contents of her purse. “Looks like we’re sharing a room tonight, guys.”

Mugen feels the blood drain from his face. “What?”

“We’ll have to barter or something in the morning for a bit more cash. It’s just the one night.” She tucks her purse into her dress and starts to lead the two of them again. “Anyway, I’m the one who should be complaining. You snore loud enough to wake the dead. And when was the last time you took a bath?”

“Fuck you!”

“Geez, you’re in a mood lately,” Fuu huffs, mostly to herself. 

For a moment, Mugen and Jin just watch her go. Jin waits until she’s out of earshot before turning to Mugen.

“Will you be alright?”

No. He can’t sleep like this. Everything’s different. He needs a nest, he needs to curl against something that smells like Jin. He needs Jin to tell him what to do, how to behave. None of this makes sense anymore. He had never been like this. He had been just fine on his own. Jin fucking ruined him.

“I told you to back off,” Mugen finally growls at him, storming after Fuu before Jin can touch him, “You’re not my damn mate.”

Bedding down in a roadside inn for the night, the three of them in one room is torture. Fuu is asleep and snoring in minutes, and Mugen has no idea how long he stares wide-eyed at the ceiling, listening to the obnoxious rhythm. The minute he falls asleep, he’s going to find himself back at Jin’s side. What if he wakes up Fuu? What would happen if she knows? He already can’t stand Jin knowing. No one is supposed to know. 

He had been just fine on his own.

Mugen hears Jin shuffle to his feet in the dark, tensing when he pads over to Mugen’s side.

“What the hell do you —?”

Jin drops his beaded bracelet onto Mugen’s mat. Mugen stares at it a minute.

“I’m not — I’m not wearing that. I told you I don’t —”

“It’s not for you to wear,” Jin says softly, keeping his voice low enough for Fuu to sleep through. “She would notice if I lent you my robe again. I assume you want to stay on your own mat through the night.”

The scent isn’t as strong as it had been on his robe, but the wooden beads carry a pleasant smell of skin. It should at least be enough to keep him from wandering in his sleep. Mugen tucks them in his palm under his head. He says nothing, and Jin returns to his own mat.

Later in the dead of night, when Mugen is absolutely sure Jin is asleep, he pulls the beads out and lifts them up to the moonlight, inspecting them, running them through his fingers absently.

Before he can stop himself, Mugen rolls his fingers through the loop of beads and slides them over his wrist.

It’s like a stone dropping heavy on his chest, his vision swimming. His head is spinning, one thought in his head drowning out every other: _Wanted._

Mugen wrenches the beads off and throws them against the wall. Struggling to catch his breath, he watches where they fell, as if expecting them to get up and float back to him. 

Carefully, Mugen gets to his feet and creeps to where the bracelet landed, picking it gingerly up off the floor and carrying it back to his mat. After a bit of hesitation, Mugen tucks it into his sleeve. Dawn is peering through the door before he, at last, falls asleep.

Fuu is still asleep when Mugen hurls the beads at Jin’s face to wake him. Jin blinks awake, slipping the bracelet back over his wrist without a word.

“Don’t fuckin’ do that,” Mugen snaps at him. “I don’t need your pity.”

Without looking at him, Jin ties his hair up in silence. There’s nothing more to say to him if Jin won’t respond to the goading, so Mugen turns to Fuu, snoring gently on her mat, and kicks the floor beside her head to snap her awake.

“Time to go.”

It had only been on him for a second, but Mugen’s wrist burns like a brand all day. He can feel Jin’s eyes on him as he rubs absently at the skin between his tattoos or drags his teeth over the phantom itch. There’s still the quiet ringing in his head that he can’t seem to shake. _Wanted wanted wanted._

Jin must know with the way he watches him, but he doesn’t mention it. Of course he doesn’t. He barely speaks as it is, and now that he knows Mugen is some Omega bitch waiting to be bred, he has no interest in anything but mating him. Jin doesn’t want Mugen. He just wants an obedient fuck.

They collect some cash performing sword tricks on the street, but only enough for cheap rice bowls and one room at an inn. The thought of spending another night stranded with the three of them makes Mugen’s stomach roil. He pokes angrily at the rice in front of him.

“I know it’s not much,” Fuu says in an attempt to comfort him, “But you can add ginger sauce to it, if you want.”

“I don’t want any,” Mugen huffs, desperate for an excuse as to why he’s eating slower than he tends to. “They don’t even cook it right.”

It’s not convincing. Nothing has kept him from a meal before. Fuu gives him a look before turning back to her own bowl, and Mugen wonders again if she already knows.

“Eat.” Jin’s voice is quiet but firm on the other side of him.

Without thinking, Mugen stuffs a bite in his mouth. The warmth that settles over him delays the realization of how obvious that was, and the instant the fog lifts, he’s furious. He moves to shove his rice away, but Jin senses it a moment before it happens and he holds his hand out above Mugen’s wrists, barely a hair from touching him.

“No.”

Mugen can’t bear to look at Fuu. He can’t turn his head, can’t hear over the roar of blood in his ears. His eyes are locked on Jin’s long fingers, stretched out in front of him. The way his bracelet dangles from his pale wrist.

_Wanted wanted wanted._

Mugen gets to his feet, snatching Fuu’s purse from the table. “I’ll get the bill.”

“But we haven’t even finished eating.”

His ears are ringing as he counts out the money from Fuu’s purse. There’s no way she didn’t see that. Everyone in this fucking noodle house knows, now. He flinches when the woman behind the bar takes his money. She’s an Alpha, and Mugen is sure he sees it in her face — that she can smell he isn’t.

“Fuck —!”

With that final outburst, Mugen turns and bolts out of the noodle house. He doesn’t care if Fuu and Jin are behind him. He never wants to see them again. 

He flees down the main road, geta clacking in the dirt. He doesn’t stop running until he hits the edge of the river. His lungs are burning and the back of his robe is drenched in sweat. Humiliated and exhausted, he sits against a tree to catch his breath, resting his arms on his knees, hanging his head.

He hears Jin approaching before he sees him, and grabs the hilt of his sword as a threat. “Get away from me.”

Jin glares at him, assuming a fighting stance. He holds out his hand, and for a wild moment, Mugen thinks he’s offering him help to stand. 

“You stole Fuu’s purse.”

Mugen looks down at the little pink bag clutched in his fist. He hadn’t meant to take it. Dropping the hold on his sword, he lobs it over to Jin, who catches it without looking at him.

“I realize now it’s rather much to expect you to be bound by honor.” He tucks the purse into his robe. “But if you’re going to continue to indulge in such childish outbursts, perhaps it’s best you don’t join us the rest of the way. It will only slow us down if we’re forced to coddle your every whim.”

He expects Jin to say more. Maybe that Fuu wouldn’t leave without him, like he’d mentioned before. Or at least wait for Mugen to say something back to him. But Jin does neither. He simply turns around and walks down the road, back the way he’d come.

Pride keeps Mugen rooted to the ground. He watches Jin go in silence.

It’s after dusk when Mugen finally gets to his feet. He kicks a stone into the water.

“Fuckin’ asshole.”

He goes back to the inn. By the time he shows up, Fuu and Jin are most likely asleep. It’s late. He looms awkwardly outside the entrance until the keeper recognizes him and invites him in, but he doesn’t return to his room. When the innkeeper offers him tea, he takes it.


	2. Chapter 2

While the sun rises, he’s seated outside on the steps, toeing with his _geta._ He’d dozed off for a bit, but snaps awake at the sound of Jin and Fuu at the door. When they spot him, Mugen can’t tell if Fuu wants to smile or hit him. 

“How much longer to the checkpoint?” Mugen asks before she can decide.

Jin says nothing to him as they head down the road, but Mugen can feel his eyes burning holes in the back of his neck throughout the day.

It’s several more days before they reach the checkpoint. By the time they get there, Mugen’s heat has worn off entirely, though the hair at the back of his neck still stands on end when Jin grabs his arm to drag him away from the giggling crowd of monks and a wafting cloud of cannabis smoke. 

“I thought I told you not to bother joining us if you were going to continue to be a disaster,” Jin grumbles under his breath.

Mugen stumbles on his stilted sandals as Jin continues to pull him along. “Don’t look at me,” he grins lopsidedly, “You’re bringin’ my ass back yourself this time.”

Jin glares at him, but doesn’t have a retort. Mugen laughs until he cries.

Further down the road, when the priest takes them in at the temple, Fuu gets her own room. The spaces are small, and Mugen uses the cramped size as an excuse to lay close to Jin when dozing in the sun between meals and odd jobs for the priest. It’s not so bad, when he can think straight. His scent is soothing, and Jin doesn’t seem to mind. Though, that may just because he’s asleep.

He runs in with the street killer at a street stall late that night. He hates that he may have lost if it hadn’t been for the townspeople chasing him away, but being given a second chance is as good as any. Even if it’s going to keep him here for another month.

When he arrives back to to the temple, Jin notices his bloody palms instantly. It isn’t a big deal. Mugen’s alive and standing, and they’ll heal before he sees that psycho again. He’ll be fine, he knows, but when Jin insists on bandaging his hands, he is much angrier than Mugen can remember him being before. 

“It was incredibly foolish to challenge him on your own,” Jin huffs at him while wrapping his hands. Jin sits on his knees and squints through his glasses to insure that the bandages are evenly spaced. “This man has taken the lives of men much more skilled than you.”

“Hey, shut up!” Mugen tries to rip his hand back, but Jin tightens his grip and doesn’t let him.

“No,” he says sharply.

There’s a gentle buzz at the back of Mugen’s neck — the grip on his wrist, the tone of Jin’s voice — but he shakes it off.

“Quit tryin’ to —”

“You must learn to be more careful,” Jin interrupts through a clenched jaw. “Do you understand?”

Mugen looks down at the bandages wrapped around his palms. He doesn’t really understand. He doesn’t know why Jin is so insistent, but something about his tone causes his mind to blur as if he were still in heat. There’s a tug deep in his chest, and it’s a struggle to sound as flippant as he wants to as he gets to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah.”

Staying at the temple a whole month is unavoidable. The chores are tedious but not difficult. This is the fight of a lifetime, and he’s not going to miss out on it just because of his fucking alignment. But he’s not stupid. Exactly one month from meeting Shoryuu on the bridge, Mugen has the very real threat of going into heat around the time of their fight. There’s no doubt that Shoryuu is an Alpha, and even if Mugen could manage a battle in that condition with anyone else, he certainly wouldn’t be able to do so with an Alpha.

He’s been chopping wood and running up and down those damn temple steps all day. Mending doors, tending the rock garden. Feeding the stupid animals, polishing the Buddha and the bright clean wood of the halls. All the fucking useless meditation. Every inch of him aches, and all he wants is to sleep. But he can’t. His mind is racing with this fight. The moon is bright enough outside that it casts an eerie glow over the room that shines through the rice paper. He pretends to read the calligraphy scrolls hanging on the walls, but it’s dark and the characters don’t look as if they’re in _hiragana._

Jin is awake next to him, he knows it. He wishes he weren’t. He can’t stand the silence when he has to ask. He needs to know. He hates it, hates that he’s desperate, hates that he needs Jin’s help with anything. Before he can stop himself, he mutters, “Hey.”

“Mm?” Jin isn’t facing him. He sounds half-asleep. It’s dumb to ask this now. 

“I’m gonna need you to fuck me again.”

Silence.

Finally, voice soft but now very much awake, Jin asks, “Pardon?”

“Well, jeez, not right _now_ ,” Mugen grunts, sitting up on his elbows. “I mean, I’m — if my fight’s in a month, chances are I’m gonna...”

Mugen doesn’t finish, and Jin is quiet for a moment while he waits for him to.

“Ah,” he says when he realizes Mugen won’t say it, “I see.”

“I’m not askin’ for a damn marriage proposal. I just need to be able to kick the guy’s ass.”

“Right.”

They’re both silent again. Mugen doesn’t want to be the one to break it this time. 

Before he can, Jin asks, “Were you afraid I would resist you in your next heat?”

It isn’t that. Mugen cocks his head to see Jin staring at the ceiling. “You wish.”

If it’s his idea when he’s sober-minded, then it isn’t a weakness. If he asks for it before he has to beg, then it’s just sex. If he tells Jin that it’s simply out of convenience, then it doesn’t have to mean anything. 

Mugen doesn’t say anything else.

About a week before the full moon, the sun sets and Jin can’t lie still. Mugen watches him, curious. He’s never had trouble falling asleep before. Mugen sits up, letting the blanket drop, cold air of the room hitting his chest. 

“What’s your problem?”

Suddenly, Jin gets up and leaves the room without a word. 

“Hey,” Mugen hisses, feeling a tug below his navel, “Where are you going?”

Enough time passes that Mugen entertains the idea of getting up and looking for him. Just as he throws off his cover and starts for the door, Jin returns, arms full of what looks to be nearly every blanket in the temple. He looks somewhat confused as he drops them to the floor, like he’d forgotten the point of a task halfway through accomplishing it.

Heart pounding rapidly in his throat, Mugen takes a step back. He can’t quite tell if he feels more humiliated at the idea of being coddled, or just embarrassed that Jin is acting like his damn mate. Either way, he’s furious. 

“Do you just want _everyone_ to know?” He kicks the blankets in Jin’s direction. “Get rid of this shit, will ya? I don’t need the fucking flowers and romance bullshit.”

Jin blinks down at the pile of blankets at his feet. “These need to be here.”

He sounds dazed, like he can’t comprehend why. It would almost be endearing, if it weren’t so fucking ridiculous. Mugen grits his teeth.

“I’m not even — it ain’t even happening yet. What’s with you?”

Jin stares at him, eyes dropping to his chest. Mugen glances down at himself, to his robe left hanging on the door. Heat burning the back of his neck, Mugen crosses an arm over his chest and looks back at Jin.

“You’re not my fuckin’ mate. Why are you acting so damn _weird?_ ”

Jin doesn’t answer, but he’s panting, hard enough that Mugen feels it in his own lungs. Jin’s eyes are dark, piercing, and focused intently on Mugen’s face. When he starts toward him, Mugen’s feet are all but glued to the floor. 

“Hey —” he warns, voice weak and raspy. If he’d wanted to push Jin’s hands away as he starts to pull his shorts off, he can’t. It doesn’t happen like this. It’s never been this sudden. His head is spinning like the strike of a match. 

“You — you fucked it up,” Mugen wheezes, voice struggling past the tightness of his throat. “I’m not —” 

He’s losing track of his thoughts, and his body sags like dead weight against Jin’s hands. Jin’s fingers are soft and cool on his face, brushing hair back from his eyes.

Abruptly, Mugen’s vantage point drops, sinking to his knees, heaving for breath. He’d been angry, hadn’t he? He can’t remember now. Jin’s eyes are burning into him, clear and dark without the barrier of those stupid glasses. It feels intimate, somehow, and Mugen keens, warmth coiling up his spine. He’d been so angry a moment ago, but Jin is bowing over him, touching his face, and the boiling blood under his skin starts to calm. His breathing slows, deep and heavy. His thoughts are swimming over each other. _Be good. Stay. Wanted._

Eyes locked on him, Jin tilts his head. He asks something, but Mugen can’t hear over the roaring in his ears. 

He wants to do whatever Jin asked. Gritting his teeth, he grabs a handful of Jin’s robe and gives it a tug. This shouldn’t be here. Jin promised. He needs Jin to tell him something. Anything. Please.

“ _Please._ ”

Jin pulls away from him, and Mugen whines. He reaches out limply, but Jin removes his own clothes with deft hands and leaves them piled with Mugen’s shorts on the floor. Mugen crawls on his hands and knees, desperate to touch Jin’s skin, but Jin grabs him by the back of the neck and pulls.

His back hits soft, warm nest and Jin is on him, teeth buried in Mugen’s throat. Mugen’s mind clouds over. Jin’s nails are digging into his scalp, holding his throat prone. Mugen’s body falls limp against the bite, an animal caught in a trap, and a sound like a purr vibrates from Jin’s chest. When his jaw relaxes, Mugen drops back against the bedding. His vision is faded white around the edges, Jin standing out bright against the grey. He paws limply at Jin’s chest. He wants to beg, wants to leave scratches in his skin, but Jin’s eyes are pinning him down. 

His mouth hangs open, and Jin sinks into him, curling over him protectively. Warmth seeps into Mugen’s skin like a physical weight. He whines, needy, and Jin fucks into him hard enough to knock Mugen’s head back. Fire licks up his spine and sparks along the pads of his fingers. Jin is breathing against his neck, heavy and solid. Mugen’s mouth moves without words falling out. He reaches blindly for Jin, finding purchase in his bangs, and Jin’s hips slam him forward. 

Mugen’s vision blurs as he comes. He tries to speak, words slurring against each other, and Jin makes a noise like a tisk, nuzzling against the pulse in Mugen’s neck. Jin’s scent is disorienting. He tries to reach for Jin again, but Jin’s fingers wrap around Mugen’s wrist and push it down, over his head. Don’t touch. Mugen squirms, still desperate. His other hand flings out to snatch hold of Jin’s hair, but his grip is weak, and falls away as Jin pounds into him again. His empty hand twitches in an attempt to try a third time, but Jin takes his hand and drags it to the other, covering the bands on Mugen’s wrists in his one hand. 

Jin doesn’t speak, but the message is clear. _No._

Calm rolls over Mugen and his eyes slide shut. He feels himself nod in agreement. No. Jin’s hips start to slow, and Mugen whimpers at the stretch against his skin as Jin starts to swell. When he looks at Jin again, he’s staring. His eyes are bright, teeth bared, and Mugen’s heart is in his throat. When he comes again, Jin is curled around him, lapping idly at Mugen’s pulse. He still hasn’t come, and Mugen squirms, whining.

He can barely think, mind grappling for words. He needs him to come, it’s suddenly the only thing he wants. He thrusts back against Jin’s hips and chokes against a plea. He needs it. _Please please please._ Head spinning and throat tight, Mugen struggles to push any thought he can out from behind his clenched teeth.

“Jin —”

Gasping against Mugen’s neck, Jin convulses, coming so hard light sparks behind Mugen’s eyes. Teeth sink into Mugen’s shoulder hard enough that he feels the skin break. Pain sears up to his neck, and another orgasm wrings from Mugen with Jin’s teeth still buried in his skin. Before Mugen has caught his breath, Jin’s body sags and drops onto him like dead weight. He’s heavy and warm, and his scent is all Mugen breathes in. Mugen can feel Jin’s tongue rolling over his shoulder as he falls asleep.

It’s the first time Mugen has slept through the night in weeks.

When Mugen drags himself into consciousness, the sunlight streaming through the door is practically splitting his head in half. He groans and covers his eyes with his arm. It pulls a mild twinge in his shoulder, reminding him of the bite there. He’s too embarrassed to look. The idea of training today makes every muscle in his body twist in mutiny. It could only be worse, but the thought just makes him grumpy. On top of him, Jin is still asleep, curled protectively over Mugen’s chest. Mugen has always wondered what the morning after is like for Alphas. Jin doesn’t seem to suffer from anything but a good night’s sleep.

Bastard.

Mugen has been awake too long when he finally squirms out from under Jin. Jin huffs and rolls over. Mugen smirks to himself. Jin never bothered to pull the band from his hair, and strands are sticking out wildly from where Mugen had grabbed him, or sticking to his face with dried sweat. Red lines stand out on his pale skin where Mugen’s nails dug into him. He even sleeps differently, after this. No longer lying straight-backed on his side. He’s curled half-buried in his _futon_ nest like a cat in the sun. Mugen watches him for a moment before picking his clothes off the floor. 

After deciding they’re clean enough he puts them on and creeps out of their room. He already slept through most of the morning, he can’t waste any more time.

Outside, he’s been chopping wood most of the morning when he spots Jin crossing the lawn to him. “You have not changed the dressings on your hands.”

“They’re fine,” Mugen grumbles, slicing his axe straight through a log.

Jin grabs his arm. “They’re not.”

Dizzy from the touch, Mugen stumbles, and Jin lets go of him abruptly. 

“I don’t mean to manipulate you.”

Mugen rolls his shoulder and hefts the axe through another log. “Yeah, right.”

Jin glares at him over the rim of his glasses. “Please let me change your bandages.”

Mugen groans, sighs, then drops the axe. His hands are sore. Fresh salve and dressings might help, anyway. Not that he’d give Jin the satisfaction, griping and complaining all the way inside, rolling his eyes as Jin sits him down and unravels the bandages already covering the cuts.

“Honestly, you complain more about tending to wounds than you do about having them inflicted,” Jin snaps. Mugen makes a face. “Patience is necessary if you plan on winning this confrontation with Shoryuu. You must know that.”

“Not a clue,” Mugen snaps, “You’ll probably have to tell me _another_ thirty times.”

Jin digs his nails into the ink along Mugen’s wrist for just a second, causing him to jolt.

Glaring, Mugen hisses, “Thought you didn’t wanna manipulate me.”

Jin smiles, eyes down as he works on Mugen’s hands. He says nothing.

The touch of Jin’s hands is light and quick, trying to keep to task, but Mugen’s head is going fuzzy all the same. Jin’s fingers are soft and careful, hardly as rough as Mugen’s. It feels as if Mugen is sinking through the _tatami_ flooring. There’s a tug on his wrist, and he opens his eyes. He hadn’t realized he shut them. How long has it been? Jin is watching him curiously.

“Would you like me to get Fuu to do this? A Beta won’t —”

“After all your bitching?” Mugen interrupts. His voice is more hoarse than he means it to be. “Don’t be such a baby. You’re almost done.”

The nest is still assembled in their room when nightfall brings Mugen back inside from training. The room is empty besides it. Jin isn’t there, most likely still finishing up his own chores somewhere inside the temple. The blankets are all shoved to one side. Mugen’s a little surprised. He had expected Jin to be neater than that. His hands move on their own accord to straighten the nest, and before he can think not to, he crawls inside.

It’s more comfortable than the _tatami_ mats, even in the summer night. It’s warm, and it’s soft, and the smell still clinging to the blankets is comforting. That calm, sinking feeling is back; dragging him further into the blankets. Before he knows it his limbs are too heavy to move. He’s worked all day. He just wants to sleep. No one will notice if he just rests. 

“Hey.”

Blearily, Mugen lifts his head to see Jin shaking him awake. Jin’s eyes are watching him, almost fond. Mugen’s not sure where his glasses are, but he likes Jin without them. Easier to read his face.

“Er —” 

Jin’s hand falls away from Mugen’s shoulder. He looks embarrassed, and Mugen wonders if he’s thinking out loud, or if Jin is still getting used to being around an Omega for the first time in ten years.

“Comin’ in, or you just gonna gawk at me?”

“Is that wise?”

Mugen nuzzles back into the nest instead of answering. After a beat, Jin undresses and crawls in after him. He pulls in close, nose edging along the nape of Mugen’s neck. Within seconds, Mugen is asleep again.

When he tries to slip away the night of the full moon, Fuu’s the one who stops him.

“Don’t forget,” she scolds him. “You said you’d help me find him.” 

Mugen rolls his eyes. Nobody has any damn faith in him. He grumbles after her, but she follows close behind with a flintstone and steel in her hands, and Jin’s voice stops him a second time.

“One other thing.” He’s polishing his blade, just inside the open door of the temple. Mugen goes tense, eyes darting to Fuu standing just at his back, sparking the flintstone. “I will be the one who gets to slay you.”

That’s not fair. He waves Fuu off only after he feels the light sting of sparks hitting his back, convincing himself to be insulted by her concern.

“What’re you,” Mugen snaps at Jin over his shoulder, “my wife or somethin’?”

Their eyes meet. A split second of shock crosses over Jin’s face before he schools his expression, narrowing his eyes. He turns back to his sword without a response. Mugen sucks his teeth and hops down the steps of the temple.

“I’ll be right back,” he calls after them.

It’s Jin who finds him in the river. Mugen can’t tell how long it’s been. Even if he hadn’t lost time to unconsciousness, the pain makes it hard to focus. Fire pumps through his veins with every heartbeat, and all he can taste and smell is blood. All he has to go on is that the moon is still bright in the sky when he feels Jin’s hands hoisting him from the water. 

“You follow me?” Mugen grits through his teeth. It comes out more like a whisper than an accusation.

“Yes.”

He hefts Mugen over his back, and Mugen flails slightly, wrapping his arms tight around Jin’s neck.

“I can fuckin’ walk,” Mugen snaps a moment before he passes out. 

He jerks awake to being dropped unceremoniously into a hot bath. He glances around to see Jin stoking the fire under the bath and frowns. Jin isn’t even looking at him.

“What’re you doin’?”

Jin glances up before turning back to watch the fire. “You were freezing.”

That’s not an answer. Mugen huffs. “Whatever.”

Jin doesn’t respond to that, and for as long as Mugen can stand it, they stay in silence.

It isn’t long.

“I can take care of myself, yanno.”

Jin throws another log under the bath and stabs the poker into the flame. “I have no doubt.”

The tone of his voice implies he does, in fact, have doubt. Mugen glowers at him over the edge of the tub. “Hey I got this far, didn’t I? I don’t need you treatin’ me like some —”

“Wife?” He looks up and meets Mugen’s stare unflinchingly. 

The bite in his voice catches Mugen off-guard, leaving him glaring down at him open-mouthed. 

Jin shrugs his shoulder and goes back to the fire. “Fuu insisted I make sure you came back alive, and I did just that. Your skin was beginning to turn blue. You’re welcome to sleep in your own space tonight, if you’re capable.”

It stings. Mugen skirts his hand over the surface of the water to dump some over the edge of the tub. He waits for Jin to look at him, shaking droplets from his hair.

“Fuck you. Like you got any room to act all high-and-mighty on me. Ol’ Master Cueball must’ve noticed you stole all his fuckin’ _futons_ by now.” 

Jin wipes his glasses silently on the sleeve of his robe. He doesn’t have anything to say, so Mugen keeps talking. 

“Tell me, Mr. _Dojo_ Discipline, was I the first Omega to get under your skin, or just the first one who paid you any attention?”

Frowning, Jin gets to his feet. “Can you stand?”

“What?” Confused, Mugen uses the edge of the tub to hoist himself up. “Yeah.”

Jin plucks the stoker from the ground and leans it against the wall of the bath house. “Then you can get yourself back inside.”

“Hey, wait —” Mugen’s hand flies out from supporting himself to snatch Jin’s sleeve, and Jin stops.

He turns to look at Mugen, and Mugen hasn’t thought this through. The apology sticks to the back of his teeth, and he drops Jin’s sleeve as if he’s been burned. Jin waits another moment giving Mugen a chance to say something. When he doesn’t, he disappears back into the temple.

Later, when Mugen drags himself out of the bath, he notices his clothes are hung to dry on a wooden rack outside. Guilt churning in his stomach, he rips his still-damp shorts down and tugs them on before limping his way back to the temple. Jin is facing the wall, lying rigid on his _tatami_ mat when Mugen slides the door open. He’s not asleep. Mugen stares at him, waiting for him to speak.

He doesn’t, so neither does Mugen. The nest sits empty in the middle of the floor. Mugen lies on the _tatami_ farthest from Jin and falls asleep.

The next morning, he wakes up bundled in the nest, and Jin is gone. When he sits up, there’s a clay mug of foul-smelling tea on the floor beside him. He picks it up and scowls at it.

As if on cue, the door slides open to Jin glaring down at him. 

“You’re awake.” Before Mugen can say anything, he adds, “Drink that. Master Zuikou wants to see you.”

Mugen glares at him over his mug, but Jin is unimpressed. “Can you walk?”

“Don’t be an asshole.” 

Mugen sets the mug down and hoists himself to his feet. He hobbles for a moment before crashing back down into the nest of _futons_. Jin watches him, but Mugen is too embarrassed to try again. He takes a swig of tea, but it tastes as bad as it smells. He spits it onto the freshly-polished wood, defiant. So he can’t walk. Fine. He’ll just wait here until he can.

Out of the corner of Mugen’s eye, Jin twitches. 

“Drink your tea. I’ll be back to collect you momentarily.”

It’s effort, choking down the rest of the tea. He’s not even sure why he drinks it. It tastes like steamed horse shit in water, but Jin doesn’t come back until he’s finished.

This time, he doesn’t ask Mugen if he can stand. He grabs Mugen by the arm and hoists him up, flinging Mugen’s arm over his neck to pull him around the halls on his bare feet to Zuikou’s quarters. The old monk is waiting for them, seated on his knees, the doors of his room thrown open to let the summer breeze and light in. 

Jin helps Mugen sit in front of Zuikou without asking, and then kneels beside the door, just within reach of Mugen if he wanted.

It makes Mugen shift uncomfortably. He stares at his knees.

“What do you want, baldy?” Mugen asks, voice gravelly. The hair at the back of his neck stands on end. He can feel Jin watching him. “Wanna know how I killed ‘im or what?”

“I do not need to know how.”

Mugen frowns. After all the focus on meditation and _chi_ bullshit Zuikou went on about, Mugen is proud to have ended the fight with a plain stab to the gut. He doubts he wants to talk about whatever Zuikou does. He looks down and pokes the bruises on his chest.

“Well then, what?”

Zuikou smiles. That’s not a good sign.

“In my day, Omegas were allowed to train in the _dojos_.” Mugen’s blood runs cold. His back stiffens. Zuikou doesn’t seem to notice. “They were rather uncommon, and it was an even rarer occurrence that they continued on to graduation.”

“Hey —”

“Perhaps,” Zuikou continues, unperturbed, “the scarcity of them is why I never questioned the shift in general acceptance over the years, when Omegas were gradually weeded out from martial arts academies by the _shogunate_. I recognize now this mistake on my part.”

A growl stirs in the pit of Mugen’s stomach. He hears Jin get to his feet and shoots him a glare over his shoulder. If Jin doesn’t know better than to come to Mugen’s defense, Mugen will damn sure teach him not to. 

But Jin says nothing. He doesn’t even look at them. All he does is leave the room.

“Ain’t had any of that fancy _dojo_ shit where I’m from, anyway,” Mugen barks, turning back to Zuikou. “I didn’t learn it from nobody but me.” 

Zuikou nods. “Of course. You must’ve had to. And it is a worthy achievement.”

The man is out of his mind. In Ryukyu, if Mugen went around letting just anybody know, he would’ve been beheaded. He doesn’t get a chance to say it, but Zuikou must know what he’s thinking, anyway.

“You must learn to find the balance between your alignment and your swordsmanship. Both are in such conflict inside you, but neither is something you can discard. They are part of you. Without acceptance of that, you will never master either of them. Without balance, you will never achieve this harmony.”

“The hell are you on about? ‘Achieve harmony’? Are you kidding me?”

Zuikou chuckles, and Mugen feels as if he’s being mocked. He tries to force down a cough, the metallic taste of blood coating the back of his throat.

“You have great strength and focus to hone such talent despite your alignment, despite a lack of training.” Mugen glares. _Despite_ nothing. “I can only imagine the difficulty. You have mastered your strengths. But you must learn to master your weaknesses, as well. Perhaps you will find, in time, that they are not weakness at all.”

“Master my weaknesses? Do _you_ even know what you’re saying when you talk?”

Zuikou smiles at him again, unmoved by his barbs. “Perhaps not every problem is solved through violence. You must understand your limitations in order to surmount them.” 

Mugen makes a face, but before he can ask, Zuikou’s eyes skirt to the door Jin just left through.

Mugen follows his line of sight. A sour weight drops in his stomach. 

“You fuckin’ kidding me, old man? What kind of advice are you trying to give me, here? Mind your own damn business. It’s not _despite_ a damn thing. I’m good because I’m good. And I killed that crazy bastard with _this_.” He pulls his knife out of the bottom of his scabbard and thrusts it out at arm’s length between them. “No mystery technique, no meditation. Just a nice quick stab. Nothin’ to it. So all your advice is shit, anyway.”

It’s a bit of a struggle to get to his feet, and he stumbles a few times, but he has to storm off before this asshole has anything else to say to him. 

“Meditate under a waterfall and master my weaknesses,” he grumbles mockingly, heading for the door. “What a load of horse shit.”

He shoves the door open, but Zuikou calls out before he can slam it behind him.

“I am grateful,” he says gently, “For what you’ve done. I fear it would have been a long time before there had been another capable of killing Shoryuu. You have righted a wrong that I could not.”

The anger simmers just under Mugen’s skin. “Yeah, yeah.”

Jin hadn’t gone far, and Mugen tenses when he spots him seated just outside the door. The jolt makes him cough again, blood spraying over the palm of his hand when he tries to hide it. He keeps his eyes sharp on Jin, even as he doubles over to catch his breath. 

“What do you want?”

Jin eyes him curiously over his glasses. “You need to rest,” he says, like it’s an answer. If he had overheard Zuikou’s rambling, there’s no way to know. The guy is a brick wall. He lifts a teapot in his hand. “Fuu made you more tea.”

“Well, tell her I ain’t drinkin’ anymore of it. Tastes like shit.”

Jin smirks, and Mugen feels a stubborn twinge of pride from making him smile, even when Jin presses the warm pot in Mugen’s hands.

“It will supposedly help with the pain.” He tilts his chin, considering before he adds, “And the bleeding.”

Mugen frowns down at it, but relents. “She willin’ to make me any food?”

It takes a moment for Jin to respond. “Would you like me to ask?”

Mugen tisks, embarrassment licking up his neck. That’s not what he meant. 

“ _I’ll_ fuckin’ ask,” he snaps, shoving the teapot back at Jin. He feels Jin’s eyes on him as he uses the walls to hobble into the kitchen, where Fuu is, alarmingly, making another batch of tea over the firepit.

“Is there not any damn food in this place?”

Fuu jumps with a squawk and wheels around.

“Mugen!” 

She has that look on her face again, somewhere between happy to see him and infuriated. Mugen is beginning to suspect that’s just her default state. 

“You’re supposed to be resting.”

Mugen rolls his eyes. “So they say. I’m hungry.”

She offers to bring him something, but Mugen doubts Jin has done away with that damn nest of _futons_. So instead, he kneels defiantly at the table and suffers through her scolding as she makes him soup. Whatever is in the soup tastes as awful as the tea does, but when he complains, she just gives him the same line Jin had for the tea.

“It’s supposed to help with healing.”

“Can I have anything that helps with the fact that I’m fuckin’ hungry?” he grumbles as Jin kneels at the table beside him. He has the teapot in one hand and a rice bowl with fish in the other. When Mugen blatantly eyes his food, Jin scoots away from him and places the teapot down between them. Jin shares his fish with Fuu, which Mugen assumes is only to infuriate him. 

Still, he’s too hungry to put up much of a fight. It mostly all tastes like blood, anyway. He finishes the soup in between huffs and grumbling.

A little later, when Jin wordlessly pours him a cup of tea, Mugen drinks it. It doesn’t occur to him what he’s done until halfway through his second cup.

Whatever it is that’s in this tea also succeeds in making everything in Mugen’s body feel heavy and sluggish. He’s certain it’s on purpose, all that ‘you need to rest’ shit coming from the both of them, but after his third cup there’s no use in trying to stay awake. After a month of training from sunrise to nightfall, after freezing in that river all night, he just wants to be resting, anyway.

It’s a bit of a blur after that, and Mugen’s not sure if Jin helps him to their room or if he just wanders there on his own. The nest is still twisted up in the center of the room, and Mugen’s last thought before he falls into it is that he’s glad he didn’t let Fuu in here.

The next few days run together. Tea, soup and sleep, and not much else. The first time he wakes up to Jin curled on his chest, it’s dark outside. His hair is down, his glasses folded away by his swords. 

Mugen’s mouth is dry when he speaks. “What’re you doin’? I ain’t in — s’long over.”

He nudges Jin’s shoulder to make sure he’s awake, but it doesn’t do much. Jin doesn’t look up, and burrows further into Mugen’s purpled side with a quiet huff. “You’re not well.”

That doesn’t make a damn bit of difference. Jin shouldn’t care, and Mugen’s health certainly shouldn’t affect him one way or another. They’re not fucking mated. He means to say all this aloud, but he’s unsure if he manages before sleep creeps up on him again. Either way, Jin isn’t in their room the next morning, and Mugen wonders, briefly, if he dreamed the whole thing.

Mugen’s uncertain how many more days they stay at the temple after he kills Shoryuu. He’s asleep for most of them, sore and battered from the inside out. He wakes up several more times to Jin draped over him in the middle of the night — enough times that he’s sure he can’t be dreaming them all. Jin doesn’t ever mention it in the daylight and something about his silence leaves Mugen too embarrassed to confront him himself.

 _“You’re not well.”_ Like him laying all over Mugen is going to heal him any faster. It’s so ridiculously outdated, thinking the presence of a mate would do anything during a recovery. And anyway, Jin isn’t his mate.

His bruises are mostly gone by the time they leave the temple. He’s still a bit stiff and sore when he moves, but he can at least get around on his own, and that’s all that matters. Fuu keeps making him that damn tea every night that they have a fire and a kettle, but at least she doesn’t make him drink the entire pot anymore.


	3. Chapter 3

They’re only a week out from the temple when Jin insists on separate rooms for the night. Fuu is more grateful than curious, which Mugen wants to push, but he doesn’t.

Jin unrolls his _futon_ calmly, and then slides the door back to leave the room.

Confused, Mugen gets up to follow him. “Where are you going?”

Back ramrod straight, Jin looks at the floor.

“As you’ve been so quick to point out, my restraint is not trusted to hold out around you.” 

Mugen smirks. He likes hearing Jin admit it. It makes it sound as if it’s more his weakness than it is Mugen’s. 

“Yeah,” he says with a chuckle. “Ain’t so far. So what?”

Jin turns his head to look at him then, peering over his glasses. 

“You’re still not fully recovered from your encounter with Shoryuu. I would only hurt you.” Mugen glowers, feeling patronized. He’s perfectly fine. He opens his mouth to argue, but Jin speaks first. “And I was under the impression you preferred it this way.”

At that, Mugen balks. The argument dies on his tongue. He’s outmatched. Once again, Jin starts out the door, but Mugen grabs for his sleeve. It’s his turn to stare at the floor, feeling Jin’s condescending eyes burning into him.

“It’s — I mean, it’s just faster this way. Yanno? Takes about a week, otherwise.”

He doesn’t meet Jin’s eyes, but he can feel them scrutinizing. Mugen swallows down the bitter tang of humiliation and squeezes the fabric between his fingers. At this point he just wants the heat to hit him so he can stop caring.

Mugen feels his heart thudding in his throat. 

“What’re you gonna do, anyway?” Mugen snaps, finally letting go of Jin’s sleeve and looking at him. “Sleep outside? For a week? And what about tomorrow morning? It doesn’t just — _stop_ when the sun comes up or anything. Not if I don’t get fucked, at least.”

Jin doesn’t seem to have thought that far ahead. He glances into the hallway before stepping back into the room and sliding the door shut behind him. 

“You’re still recovering,” Jin repeats hesitantly, “I don’t want to hurt you.”

Mugen glares at him. If he weren’t a fucking Omega, Jin would never treat him like this. Fragile, like he needs to be minded, taken care of. The idea flashes through his mind that Jin may not even want to make good on their fight, now; that he’d take pity on him and try and call it off. The thought churns his blood over to boiling. 

“Just how big and tough do you think you are, pretty boy? I’ve had rougher than you before alignment even set in.” Jin bristles, and Mugen’s eyes light up. He kicks off his shorts. Without the stilted sandals, he has to stand on his toes to get in Jin’s face. He wobbles a bit, losing his balance. “You ain’t got it in you to hurt me. So don’t fuckin’ worry about it.”

Sighing, Jin tilts his head. He tucks his fingers under Mugen’s chin and holds his gaze. The air freezes in Mugen’s lungs. For a moment, Jin watches him, silent.

“If you want me to stay,” he says finally, “let me stay.”

Mugen’s jaw is locked tight. His lip curls over his teeth, but he can’t force any sound from his throat. Patient, Jin waits for some sort of response. His eyes flick past Mugen, staring at his shoulder. Seconds tick by before he finally asks, “Do you want me to stay?”

When Mugen nods, he’s forgotten why it took him so long to admit it.

It’s easier, the next night, for Mugen to sleep on his own. The night after, he doesn’t raise a fuss when they can only afford one room. By the time they teeter into Hamamatsu, they’re broke, but Mugen is clear enough that he no longer needs to tuck Jin’s bracelet in the palm of his hand at night. It’s quicker now than it had been even just last month. Mugen doesn’t remember heats ever being this easy. 

It shouldn’t, but it makes Mugen wary. Any attention Jin pays him feels like a threat or a joke. He keeps Fuu between them when they stop in a teahouse for dinner.

Rainclouds roll into town with them. They’re stuck staying in a cramped single room in Hamamatsu longer than they mean to, and the three of them are forced to find work. Jin comes in from his first evening at a job with a small bag of silver to pay the inn’s owner, and doesn’t speak to either of them before going to bed. He leaves before either Mugen or Fuu wake the next morning, and doesn’t come back until long after the sun has gone down.

He’s always quiet. It shouldn’t matter, so it doesn’t.

The streets outside are washed out from the storm by days of downpour. Their travel has been on hold for a week. Mugen’s lost track of the days the night that Jin stumbles back to the inn barely able to stand. Mugen has never seen Jin defeated by anyone, and the hair stands at the back of his neck. He flinches toward him before catching himself. He grits his teeth and tries to shake the persistent itch at the back of his mind telling him to be at Jin’s side as he watches him slump into the room.

“You have money,” Jin says, ignoring Fuu’s questions.

Mugen had forgotten about it. He looks down at the _ryo_ in his hands. He and Fuu had been arguing about it just a moment ago. Distracted, he repeats what he’d told Fuu, “I’ll do whatever I want with it.”

“Let me have it.”

Mugen’s hand twitches. _Okay._ But Fuu’s voice cuts through the fog of instinct.

“What do you need money for?”

“I’m going to buy a woman.”

Something cold and heavy drops in Mugen’s stomach. Rodriguez wriggles out from the string around his middle and flies in front of his face. He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes. Jin doesn’t seem to be joking. Mugen’s mouth is dry, and he swallows hard. It’s difficult to decide if it looks worse to argue or to hand the money over. 

He doesn’t care. It doesn’t matter. He passes Jin the coin.

“Good on you,” he mutters, voice tense. Jin is back out the door so quickly, Mugen doubts he even heard him.

Not that it matters.

The rain doesn’t let up for an instant. It’s still drumming loudly outside the walls of the inn on the third night in a row that Jin hasn’t come back by nightfall. Fuu is sitting at the window, watching the storm. Waiting up for Jin, most likely. Mugen has his face to the wall, curled around himself, pretending to be asleep.

“Do you think he loves her?”

“Who cares?” So much for pretending.

For a moment, Fuu is quiet.

“I’m not stupid, you know.”

Mugen huffs. “Wanna bet?”

He doesn’t look at her, but he can picture her rolling her eyes as she tisks. “You think because I’m a Beta, I can’t smell you in heat? Even if I couldn’t, you must think I’m deaf. No one could’ve slept through the noises you made back at the temple.”

It’s like ice water dumped over Mugen’s head. He bolts upright to look at her. “What?”

“I know you’re an Omega, Mugen. Jeez, I probably knew before Jin did. You’re not as good a liar as you think.”

Mugen swallows, heart pounding in his ears. “Wh — what?”

Fuu finally looks away from the window. She doesn’t meet Mugen’s eyes, so he convinces himself she’s exaggerating. She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. She’s smiling, and Mugen feels mocked.

“Boys are so stupid.”

He’s definitely being mocked.

“The hell are you talking about? I haven’t done shit. He’s the one off tryin’ to mate a fuckin’ prostitute. I’m just —”

“Sleeping poorly?” Fuu interrupts. “Don’t think I don’t hear you tossing and turning the past couple nights. Or when he doesn’t leave you tokens.”

“How the hell do you know about _that?_ ” He admits it before he can think better of it. Sweat runs down the back of his neck, shoulders tense. He reads pity in Fuu’s expression and grinds his teeth. “What’re you —?”

“You two aren’t as sneaky as you think you are,” Fuu sighs. “You know you come back smelling like Jin almost every night since the first time you two ran off, right? Did you think you were being subtle?” 

Mugen gapes at her. He has nothing to say. 

“Anyway, I hear the two of you creeping around after you think I’m asleep. I figured you didn’t want me to know, so I kept quiet, but now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Mugen scratches at the back of his neck. He’s not sure how to argue, so he just grumbles, “Whatever.”

“You’re so dense,” Fuu grumbles, pressing the heel of her hand against her forehead.

“What’s your point?” Mugen snaps, trying not to fidget. “It’s not like he’s my fuckin’ mate. It’s convenience. If you wanna find your damn sunflower dude, we can’t be wastin’ time with me running off into the woods for every fuckin’ cycle.”

Fuu rolls her eyes before looking at him. “Yeah, I would’ve maybe believed that before this.” She leans forward and pokes the top of Mugen’s shoulder. Mugen reels backward.

“The hell’re you doin’?”

“I wouldn’t have seen it if you didn’t insist on walking around half-naked all the time,” Fuu says with a huff. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”

“Notice what?” Mugen cranes his neck, seeing the line of a bite mark left white in his skin.

Fuu gives the scar another tap. “He bit you. _Hard._ Didn’t that bleed, when he did it?”

Mugen doesn’t remember. It must have, if there’s still a mark. It must be from his heat back at the temple. He shrugs and gives it a poke. It doesn’t hurt, just scabbed over. Fuu watches him prod at it.

“Maybe you’re not mated, but no one else is gonna want to get near you when you’re marked like that.”

Mugen looks up. “Why not?”

“How do you not _know?_ ” Fuu asks, sounding frustrated. “Didn’t your mom —” She falters, realizing herself, and switches tactics. “It’s basically like having a stamp on your forehead that says _’I don’t share.’_ ”

The back of Mugen’s neck is on fire. He rubs his hand furiously over the mark on his skin, trying to smooth it away. “That son of a —”

“Don’t get mad at him,” Fuu snaps, “You only ever let him near you while you’re in heat, he probably didn’t even realize what he was doing.”

Mugen frowns. He doesn’t look up from the mark.

“You’re not the only one who gets stupid once a month,” Fuu says smugly. “And the way you treat him the rest of the time, he probably doesn’t even think you’re an option for mating.”

Mugen’s eyes slide from the mark on his shoulder to glare at her. “I’m not.”

Fuu rolls her eyes. “Oh, please.”

“Hey, shut up. We may have put off our fight until after we find your _samurai_ , but I’m still gonna kill the bastard afterward.” 

Fuu makes a face, the same face she always pulls when they talk about their duel.

“You’re hopeless,” she says with a sigh. 

Mugen ignores her, fuming silently and messing with the beetle until Fuu goes to sleep. He stays up with the intent to confront Jin about leaving him marked like some kind of property, but when Jin sneaks into the inn hours later smelling of that woman, Mugen loses his nerve. What is he going to say, anyway? Fuu has no clue what she’s even talking about. It doesn’t matter. None of it does. Mugen keeps his attention on Rodriguez, pressing down on the rock for extra weight to pull against. 

Jin doesn’t ask about the bug, anyway. He barely seems to notice Mugen at all. He places his swords at the head of his mat and lies down facing the wall without a word. He falls asleep so quickly, Mugen has to bite back the idea of jumping to his feet and kicking Jin awake, just out of spite.

Mugen lies on his back and watches the ceiling for what feels like hours before falling asleep.

The next night, Jin leaves when he thinks Mugen is asleep. Mugen listens to him tell Fuu he might not come back. He asks for her forgiveness. Mugen listens for his name, but Jin doesn’t mention him. Mugen’s forgiveness, apparently, isn’t necessary.

Good. He can’t have it. 

It can’t be much more than an hour later that Fuu shakes him awake. “Jin left his swords,” she tells him, “He said he might not come back. What if he’s in danger?”

“He deserves it,” Mugen grumbles, but Fuu only yanks at his arm when he tries to roll over.

“We have to find him,” she insists. 

Mugen snorts. He could’ve sworn she’d seemed much less willing to have anything to do with Jin when he left. There’s no way he’s been asleep _that_ long. He snatches up his sword and follows her out the door. 

In the dark, rainy street where they find Jin brawling with his bare hands, Mugen shoulders past the modest woman on his way to Jin. Anger spikes deep in his gut at the sight of her. She’s pretty and fragile and quiet — maybe not an Omega, but an obedient fuck just the same. For an instant, Mugen’s vision swims over red. He shakes it off, the echo of Mukuro’s voice in his head: _You’re pathetic._

The next morning the rain breaks, and Jin stays with them, but he doesn’t want to. He never says a word to Mugen about how he’d planned on leaving, and Mugen bites his tongue to not bring it up. Why demand an apology when he doesn’t even want to accept it? The three of them slip out of Hamamatsu as if that woman never existed. Jin offers nothing about her, and Fuu doesn’t ask. Mugen certainly isn’t going to. Long after the brothel guards are dead and Jin trails behind him and Fuu in morose silence, the thought stays latched deep in Mugen’s mind like a tick: _Pathetic._

For several days, Mugen’s skin is crawling. Jin’s silence carries something heavy with it, something isolating. It itches at Mugen’s bones and at the back of his throat. He can’t sleep — too aware that Jin isn’t sleeping, either.

It’s a week since they left Hamamatsu when Jin finds them two rooms in a small roadside inn. After Fuu has gone to her own room he strips his _hakama_ and robes and arranges them out on the middle of the floor. Mugen watches him sourly. When he reaches for Mugen, he snatches his hand away, reaching for the hilt of his sword.

“You fuckin’ kidding me?” 

Jin’s brow furrows, and Mugen takes another step back. 

“What if you’d run off with your little girlfriend? I’d be on my own for this one, anyway, right?” 

Pointing this out doesn’t seem to phase Jin. “I didn’t leave.”

Or apologize. “Might as well prepare for next time,” Mugen snaps at him. “I don’t need your pity fucks, alright? I got my own ways of handling this.”

Mugen scrambles to his feel starts for the door, a spark of twisted pride when Jin gets to his feet to follow him. 

“You say it lasts for a week without satiating. We don’t have that long to waste here.”

“Yeah? Well, then go on without me,” Mugen growls. “You had no problem with it being the other way around.”

Jin looks down at his clothes. “Suffering alone does not seem like the wisest option.”

“It’s not,” Mugen says, sliding the door open. “But it’s the best one I’ve got.”

Mugen makes it far enough into the woods that he’s sure Jin isn’t following him. He’d asked for that. He’s glad for that. He feels sweat gathering at the back of his neck and curls up under a tree. The ground is starting to lurch underneath him, even when he lies still. There’s no getting any further. It’s getting too hard to breathe. He lies down in the dirt and pine needles and clenches his eyes shut, waiting for his head to stop spinning.

_Stop stop stop stop._

Skin crawling, Mugen squirms and ruts against nothing. His ears are ringing, clothes and dead leaves sticking to his skin. The dizziness is worse if he opens his eyes, stars swaying above him in the night sky, so he keeps them shut tight. He just wants to sleep. He wants touch. He runs his hands up and down his own arms, helplessly needy. It’s not enough. His clothes are soaked through with sweat and slick. Need is burning through to his bones. He rolls over onto his back. His throat is strained tight when he keens. 

Hours pass, probably. Mugen’s not sure how many. He wakes up to the taste of his own sweat on his tongue and a chalky mouth. His hair is plastered to his face and his eyes are burning. He can’t tell if the sun is up or if he’s just suffering a blinding headache. All he can think is _want_. He’s panting and squirming, every inch of him itching for touch. He can’t remember the last time he’s been touched. It feels like years. Why is he alone?

He struggles to breathe. Even with his eyes shut, the world seems to be spinning.

There are hands on him. He jumps, eyes snapping open, which he regrets. It sends the forest lurching in his vision again. For a moment, Mugen is sure it’s a dream. He was asleep. Must’ve been. It’s dark now. He’s shivering and out of his mind. But the hands he’d felt are still gentle on his face.

“I’m sorry.” Jin’s voice is soft and shaking, cool against fevered skin. 

He’s here. He’s here _now._ That’s not _fair._ Mugen claws at him, latches a hand in his hair. He tugs down hard, and Jin lets out a yelp like a wounded dog.

“Fuck you.” 

Speaking makes his head spin. Even as Mugen’s other hand tears at Jin’s clothes, he kicks hard at his chest. He’s fading in and out, barely able to think past _want._ Jin tries to grab him, but Mugen twists away.

“Stop — _stop it._ ” He can’t let Jin win. He shakes his head, trying to clear the fog enough to think. “Get away from — me.” 

“I’m not here to —” 

Mugen cuts him off when he kicks at him again, trying to break away from him even with his other hand still tangled in Jin’s hair. Growling, Jin snatches both of Mugen’s wrists and pins them against the earth. This time, when he speaks, his voice comes out hoarse and cracked.

“Be still.”

For an instant, calm washes over Mugen. The forest floor is soft and warm, and Mugen feels like he’s melting into it. 

_Stop it._

Before he can shake Jin off of him, Jin releases, wrenching back from him as if burned. 

“You left without — anything.” Jin sounds breathless, and Mugen tries to crawl away from him. Jin doesn’t move toward him again. “I couldn’t — allow you to just — leave.”

 _Allow me shit._ Mugen blinks. The rest of the words fall into place, but the sentence doesn’t make sense. “What?”

“I had to bring you…” Jin’s chest is heaving, and Mugen can’t focus. He can’t understand anything Jin’s saying. There’s a _thunk_ of something heavy landing beside him, and he turns to look at a large earthenware jug of water in the wet grass.

It takes Mugen a moment to understand how it got there. He looks back up at Jin, who is steadying himself on the branch of a tree. He looks back down at the water. This doesn’t make sense.

“What?”

Jin is a few steps further away than he was a moment ago. “I’m not here to force you.”

It stings, but Mugen shakes the thought from his head. Good. “Then _leave._ ”

Jin shakes his head, sinking to the ground with his back against the tree. For the first time, Mugen notices the way his hands are trembling. “If it’s — if it’s alright, I’d like to stay.”

He’s hearing things. He’s fallen into full-on delirium. There’s no way Jin just wants to sit here in agony, so close to each other without touching. He’d be willing to believe Jin isn’t even really here if it weren’t for the way every nerve in Mugen’s body is screaming along the edge of pain. _Please please please._

Jin had said something, hadn’t he? Something about staying?

“Why?” Mugen finally manages, wheezing, “What for?”

Jin folds his arms over his knees. He drops his head against his arms and sighs. He sounds exhausted when he finally speaks. “I don’t want to leave you.”

For a moment, Mugen’s vision stops swimming. Jin’s words are heavy and clear, echoing in his head. Mugen looks back down at the water jug at his feet. It’s heavy to lift, but after some struggling he’s able to tip the contents clumsily into his mouth.

Out of the corner of his eye, Mugen sees Jin lift his head to watch him drink. 

Jin doesn’t move, and neither does Mugen. Still, within a few breaths, the want is back. Head spinning, forgetting things. Mugen shakes the fog away. Angry. Stay angry. He looks back at Jin, his knuckles clenched white in the sleeves of his robe, head down. Mugen swallows a whine from the back of his throat. Maybe he shouldn’t. He feels foolish now.

“Hey —” His voice comes out coarse and quiet, and Jin’s head snaps up as if attached to a string. His focus is disarming, even as clouded as Mugen’s brain is. His lungs burn as he speaks. “There’s — there’s no point. To this.”

Jin stiffens, misunderstanding.

“I mean I — fuck it.” It’s too hard to explain. He doesn’t care anymore. There’s no shame. He just wants. “C’mere.”

Jin bolts to him with his whole body, slamming into Mugen and throwing them back against the dirt. The air leaves Mugen like a punch, but the cloying tension just under his skin finally goes still. He gasps breath back into his lungs, Jin hovering over him, hands careful and tender.

“I’m sorry.” The words are effort from the way Jin pants them against his skin, like he’s losing his ability to speak. “I — I’m sorry.”

Mugen doesn’t remember what the apology is for, but it doesn’t matter. It’s too hard to speak from catching his breath, so he lifts his head to nip Jin’s neck, quick and soft. Accepted. Good. _Touch me._

Mugen watches Jin’s face in the dark, hard to make out, even so close as he swipes a thumb over Mugen’s cheek. Jin’s hands are shaking with barely contained restraint. Mugen whimpers, shifting under Jin’s touch as he tries to remove Mugen’s clothes. Mugen doesn’t need him to be careful. It’s already so much easier to breathe.

Jin has his arms pinned against the forest floor, but Mugen is desperate to move. He wants to pull the glasses from Jin’s face. He wants to see.

“Shh.” Jin slips Mugen’s robe and shirt over his head in one fluid movement, pillowing the filthy clothes underneath them before taking his glasses off. 

Was Mugen talking out loud? He couldn’t have been. He doesn’t remember how. 

Jin’s own clothes are softer under Mugen’s back. Jin has stopped speaking, stopped trying to, dragging his tongue over the pulse in Mugen’s neck. It’s an apology. Mugen is sure. He doesn’t remember the last time an apology was afforded to him. But now, even breathing is easier. Comforting. Jin’s scent is all he has to breathe in.

His first orgasm is instantaneous, before Jin is even fully inside him. He’s too needy. Unseemly. But Jin just tucks his face into Mugen’s throat and works his hips in slow, even thrusts until his cock starts to swell. Mugen is squirming up against him, biting his tongue to keep quiet. Time seems to be moving slower. Jin seems heady and drunk, nuzzling against Mugen’s pulse, panting against his skin. He’s heavy on top of Mugen, pressing him flat against the ground.

The buzz in Mugen’s brain goes mercifully silent. Teeth graze over Mugen’s throat, just a hint of pressure, and Mugen keens. He needs it. More scars. The last one’s gone. Maybe Jin hadn’t meant to, but he can mean it now. Mugen wants it now.

Jin’s eyes are on him, dark and wide. Is he talking? Mugen swallows hard against tension in his throat, and Jin nips him with his teeth. Just barely, but enough. White floods Mugen’s field of vision and every nerve sings along the razor edge of too much. His buries his hands in Jin’s hair and pulls. Jin is shaking, pushing into Mugen hard enough to make the air around them spin again. When Jin finally comes, he growls, and it comes out sounding a little like Mugen’s name.

It’s still dark when Mugen comes to. Or maybe dark again. It’s hard to tell. He’s not sure what pulled him awake at first, until he realizes his back is no longer warm against the mulch of the ground. It takes him several seconds to understand he’s being carried, his robe wrapped around his middle like a blanket. He squirms, and Jin squeezes him close to keep from dropping him.

When Mugen wakes up again, he’s flat on his back on a _tatami_ mat. There’s a _futon_ wrapped around him, and Jin’s head is pillowed on his chest. They’re both naked underneath the blanket, and Mugen glances around looking for his clothes. When he sits up, Jin rolls over with a grumble. He cracks one eye open, and Mugen frowns at him.

“They’re drying outside,” Jin tells him before Mugen can ask. “Go back to sleep.”

He doesn’t want to, but he does anyway.

When sunlight filters through the window, it feels like nails in Mugen’s skull. He grabs the blanket pushed to his waist and pulls it over his head, knocking Jin awake. He sits up with a huff and tugs the blanket from Mugen’s face.

“Are you alright?”

Mugen pretends it’s not weird of him to ask. He pries the blanket from Jin’s hands and covers his face with it again.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rough. “Great.”

“I did not intend to hurt you.”

Mugen opens his eyes. Fantastic. Another scar is just what he needs. He doesn’t feel anything, and looks confusedly down at himself. He can’t see his back, but he’s pretty sure there’s nothing there.

“What’re you talkin’ about?” he asks, glancing curiously over his own shoulder. “You didn’t.”

Jin doesn’t answer him.

The residual symptoms of Mugen’s heat are long gone by the time they cross paths with Mukuro, but Mugen can still feel his suspicion. His eyes linger on Jin as he talks about the job he’s planning.

“How long have you been travelling with them?” Mukuro asks smugly, knocking Mugen’s chin with the barrel of his gun. “Do they know your little secret?”

Mugen doesn’t say anything, and doesn’t move to look at the others behind him. The lie is on his tongue, but Mukuro’s gun twitches, sinking to Mugen’s chest.

“Ooh.” he nods to Jin, breaking eye contact for less than a second. Mugen tenses his jaw to keep from glancing over. “ _He_ does. Doesn’t he?”

Shame burns down the back of Mugen’s throat like swallowing fire. Mukuro’s gun is pointed back under his chin.

“We both do,” Fuu pipes up, and Mugen cringes. “It doesn’t matter to us. It’s easier for him to have a sword on the mainland.”

Raising his eyebrows, Mukuro laughs, high-pitched and cruel. It’s like metal grinding against Mugen’s bones. There’s a niggling thought at the back of his mind to kneel, but he clenches his eyes shut to shake it off.

“Get to be a proud little bitch here. Is that why you ran away?”

Throwing his eyes open, Mugen swings his sword against Mukuro’s gun to knock it back from his neck. “Ran away? Are you kidding? You fucked me over and left me for dead.”

Mukuro only seems to find his defiance funny. Mugen can still hear him laughing as he storms off the beach.

“What a jerk.” Fuu’s voice is sudden, and makes Mugen jump. She’s right at his hip without warning. “How do you know that guy?”

“I don’t,” Mugen snaps. “He’s nobody.”

“What about the girl?” Jin asks, catching up to the two of them. “She’s following us.” Mugen glances back down the beach. Not at Kohza, but at Jin’s tracks in the sand. Did he run?

Mukuro and his pitiful cronies aren’t following them. Just Kohza. Despite himself, Mugen slows down. Kohza’s different. She’s not dangerous. Just another sorry bitch that her brother threatens to breed in order to keep her in line. At least Mugen managed to get out, as fucked up as it was. When Kohza catches up to them, she reaches for Mugen’s hand, but he pulls away from her. 

Not that different.

He’s not sure why he expects Jin to sit beside him when he plants himself on the shore, decidedly away from where Kohza and Fuu sit on the dock. He knows Fuu would rather learn things from Kohza that Mugen won’t tell her, but he had hoped Jin wouldn’t care. Or maybe that he would care that Mugen doesn’t want to share them. He listens to Kohza and Fuu and waits to hear Jin speak. He doesn’t. Somehow, that’s more humiliating. He takes the first excuse to walk away, down the beach. 

He should look for a boat. Instead he finds Mukuro.

“About that job,” Mukuro says with a grin. “I want you on it.”

It’s been long enough. The words shouldn’t still pull Mugen’s spine tight. “Too bad.”

Again, Mukuro laughs. The hair on Mugen’s arms stands up against the chill. He takes a step back, but Mukuro only closes the distance. The gun is aimed squarely at Mugen’s face again, but Mugen clenches his jaw and stares him down. He won’t shoot. He never does. 

“It’s too bad I couldn’t find you earlier,” he says, sniffing the air. “Must’ve just missed it.”

Mugen says nothing. He reaches over his head and grasps the hilt of his sword, but Mukuro is unphased.

“You still as much fun as you used to be? That pretty _samurai_ keep you close?” Mukuro asks, “Few weeks earlier and I could’ve had you beggin’ for this job with the barrel in your mouth.”

The memory of warm steel heavy on Mugen’s tongue makes the hand on the hilt twitch. He forces himself not to draw at the threat. Mukuro would only find it to be a weakness; something to mock. _You scared?_ Mugen hasn’t said anything, but suddenly Mukuro’s eyes light up. 

“Oh wait,” he says gleefully, inching the gun closer to Mugen’s face. “Is that not the case anymore? Would that pretty boy Alpha back there take my head off if I laid a hand on his bitch?”

Something light swoops in Mugen’s chest at the thought. He takes a fighting stance and tightens the grip on his sword.

“Like I need him to do that for me,” Mugen growls. “I don’t belong to him. He’s a convenient fuck. No different than you.”

“Oh I don’t think that’s true,” Mukuro whispers in a lewd drawl. He holsters the gun as he closes the distance between them. Mugen steadies himself. _Don’t draw, don’t draw, don’t draw._

“You might not have always liked it, but you belonged to me, didn’t you?”

Fingers touch along the inside of Mugen’s wrist and he panics, flinging his sword from his scabbard. The edge of the blade stops just at Mukuro’s throat. Mugen is panting, helpless and fourteen again, and Mukuro is laughing. 

What’s stopping him?

“Pathetic,” Mukuro chuckles. It seeps into Mugen’s skin and burns against his bones. “Seems like maybe you _do_ need your Alpha _samurai’s_ help.” Mugen flinches, and Mukuro ducks out from the blade, shouldering it out of Mugen’s hand and grabbing a fistful of his hair. “He ain’t here though, is he? You always were a nightmare to keep track of.”

The grip in his hair twists, and pain shoots down Mugen’s neck. He flails backward for his sword, but Mukuro rips him upward, out of reach. He kicks wildly until his foot connects hard with Mukuro’s throat, and he finally lets him go. Snatching up his sword, Mugen brandishes it at Mukuro’s face with a shout. There’s no threat to it, now. What’s wrong with him? Nobody is here. He can just slit his throat and be done.

“You want me to do this fucking job? Fine. But once it’s done, you don’t touch him, you don’t touch her, and you stay the hell away from me.”

Mukuro grins. “Deal.”


	4. Chapter 4

It goes south. Of course it does. He should have known it would. Whatever it was keeping him from killing Mukuro before dies in the water. He won’t hesitate now, he knows it. But Jin finds him on the beach, and it’s over before it starts. 

“Mukuro is dead. I killed him.”

A hollow weight lands in Mugen’s stomach. He sees it in his head, the way he had before when Mukuro had teased him. Blind territorial rage. He hates that he wants that when he knows it isn’t how it happened. He hates that Mukuro was right. He’s so fucking pathetic.

“I was deceived,” Jin admits, voice thin. As Mugen heads back the other way, Jin doesn’t stop him. He barely spares him a glance, but he speaks clearly as Mugen stumbles past him. “Be careful.”

The sun goes down soon after he leaves Kohza sobbing over Shiren’s body, but he’s still numb to the cold and soaked through from the rain. His hands are shaking trying to keep a hold on his scabbard, but it’s as if he’s watching someone else move his limbs. His fingers are turning blue underneath the dried blood caked on his hands. He feels nothing but tired. He’s walked long enough. She won’t come after him, anyway. He sits down in the sand and waits to feel his limbs again.

“Mugen!”

Mugen’s eyes snap open and Jin is inches from his face. He hadn’t meant to fall asleep. He’s still sitting upright in the sand. He still can’t feel his limbs, but Jin’s eyes have gone soft. He must’ve been trying to wake him for a while now.

Coughing weakly, Mugen asks, “You follow me again?”

“No,” Jin says, getting to his feet. “You never came back. I came looking for you.”

He holds out his hand, and Mugen stares at it. He looks down at himself. What does he want? When Mugen doesn’t react, Jin tisks.

“Come on,” he says gently, tucking his hands under Mugen’s arms to help him to his feet. “If you’re out here much longer you’ll freeze.”

When Mugen stumbles over his feet, Jin hoists him onto his back without bothering to ask. He’s silent as he walks them back to their abandoned cabin. Mugen watches the beach from over his shoulder. When the silence goes on for too long, Mugen asks, “How’d you kill ‘im?”

To his surprise, Jin stops walking. He glances at Mugen on his back before starting again.

“I apologize for taking the victory from you,” he says finally, “But I do not apologize for killing him.”

The rest of the walk is quiet. When they get back to the cabin, there’s a pot of hot water over the fire, and Fuu is asleep. Poor girl must be exhausted. Jin slips past her, sitting Mugen down near the fire and stripping his grimy soaked clothing over his head. 

Mugen is still while Jin washes the blood and salt from his skin with a warm rag. It’s strange, being touched so gently. He can’t remember anyone doing something like this for him before. He watches quietly for a moment before asking, voice hoarse, “What’re you doin’ that for?”

Jin doesn’t stop in his task. “You can’t sleep this way. Your skin is like ice.”

Managing a smirk, Mugen asks, “Carryin’ out girlie’s orders again?”

That causes Jin to pause.

“No,” he admits finally, “I believe she’s still quite cross with you for running away from her.” 

Mugen huffs, but has nothing to say to that. He’s pretty sure he deserves it, this time. Jin falls silent again, dabbing gently at the blood dried along Mugen’s collarbone. His hands are almost maddeningly delicate. When he dips the rag into the pot to freshen it, he smiles to himself.

“Though not so cross as to leave you without hot water, I suppose.”

When Jin reaches to clean his face, Mugen flinches away. It’s too intimate, too soft. Jin hesitates, and offers the rag to Mugen. After staring a moment, Mugen takes it, feeling foolish. He shouldn’t have reacted. It’d be too obvious to let Jin finish now, but he misses the gentle contact. His own hands scrape too roughly when he swipes the rag over his eyes.

They fall asleep on opposite sides of the shack, but when Mugen wakes the next morning, Jin is curled against his side. Blearily, Mugen sits up, panicked that something must have set off an early heat, but as the room falls into place around him, he sees a pair of glasses where Jin left them in the other corner of the cabin. Looking back at Jin pressed against him, Mugen notices the swords tucked under his arm. He must have still been awake, after Mugen fell asleep. He had gotten up and moved while fully conscious. 

Mugen’s not sure what that means.

He stares down at Jin, watching without really meaning to. He looks different, in sleep. His features are smoother. He looks so much younger with his hair down that he almost manages to look his age. Without thinking, Mugen brushes a lock of hair from Jin’s face. His hands are nowhere near as gentle as Jin’s are, but he has no intention to wake him, and takes pride in the fact that he doesn’t.

The thought occurs to him a moment too late, and his head snaps up to see Fuu kneeling beside the fire, heating up a pot of tea. She’s gaping when Mugen looks up, but recovers quickly, focus instantly back on tea, cheeks pink.

A cold sweat breaks out over the back of Mugen’s neck. He’s paralyzed with embarrassment, heart pounding. For a split second, he can’t breathe. 

“How — how long have you been watching me like a damn peepin’ Tom?” He’d sound more threatening if his voice weren’t still so raw from sleep.

“I wasn’t,” she insists, too quickly. “Do you want tea?”

Mugen doesn’t say anything. He’s afraid waking Jin would just make this worse. Fuu hands him a cup anyway. “How’re you feeling?”

Raising an eyebrow, Mugen takes a sip. “Like shit.”

Fuu watches him drink his tea without responding. When he hands the cup back, she refills it. He hadn’t meant to seem like he was asking for seconds, but he drinks it anyway. He’s grateful whatever tea she’s making doesn’t taste like that noxious blend from the temple.

He catches her staring at Jin and tisks. “Don’t ask me,” he grumbles defensively. “He was over there when I fell asleep.”

Sipping her own tea, Fuu looks up at him. “He tossed around a bit, before he got up.”

Knowing that tickles something at the base of Mugen’s spine. He looks back down at Jin, but doesn’t say anything. Fuu fills the silence. “We thought you were dead.”

There’s nothing to say to that, either. Jin is still fast asleep against Mugen’s side, and his fingers itch to touch him, just to have something to do with his hands. He drums them lightly on the floor for an instant before stopping, afraid of waking Jin into this conversation.

Fuu seems a little embarrassed to be having the conversation at all. She drinks her tea quietly for a moment before clearing her throat and asking, “Are you hungry?”

“Thought you’d be pissed at me for runnin’ out on you.” Mugen recites Jin’s words without thinking.

For a moment, Fuu considers this. She watches Jin in silence. “It’s good to have you back.”

Mugen huffs. Fuu seems to be working something over in her head. She puts her teacup down. She reaches for Mugen’s, but he doesn’t want anymore. He pretends not to notice the gesture and sets it on the floor.

“He didn’t sleep, the other night.” Mugen looks up at that, and Fuu shrugs her shoulders. 

“I mean, I didn’t get much sleep, either, after pulling you off the beach,” she says with the hint of a laugh. “But Jin didn’t come back at all, after…” 

She doesn’t know what to call the shipwreck, so she skips over it. “That night, I didn’t see him — I didn’t see him again until after you were gone. When he finally showed up he was soaked to the bone. He told me he’d found you and then just sat at the doorway until running off to bring you back. I don’t think he said a single word to me after ‘Mugen’s alive’.”

That’s not necessarily strange. Jin never says anything. It doesn’t have to mean something, if he’s quiet.

“He killed him, didn’t he? Kohza’s brother. That’s where he’d gone.”

Mugen doesn’t answer, but Fuu doesn’t need him to. 

“I thought so. When they… when they didn’t come back, I thought…” She sighs. “What about you? Where did you go?”

Mugen shrugs. For once Fuu knows better than to push. She looks back at Jin, and the two of them sit in silence, watching him breathe.

“I’d never seen him like that before. Never heard him raise his voice like that. When he came back — he was different. I dunno. Anxious.”

Mugen’s not sure what she’s talking about. He still doesn’t know what say. Even if he did, he wouldn’t say it. He’s terrified that Jin is feigning sleep, that he might sit up at any minute.

Instead, he changes the subject. “I guess we should stay here another couple nights before hitting the road then, if the two of you are so damn exhausted from my near-death experience.”

“Don’t get cute,” Fuu snips at him. “But you’re right. It took a lot out of him. Both of us, but mostly…” she trails off again. Mugen wishes she would stop that. “I think you should talk to him.”

The idea of talking about any of this with either of them is worse than if he’d just stayed to drown in the ocean. 

“About _what?_ ”

Fuu rolls her eyes. She stands, a little stiffly, and sighs, “I’m gonna find us breakfast.”

Mugen watches her toe on her shoes and slide the door shut as she leaves. At last, he exhales, coughs up some more seawater and slumps against the floor. His body aches all over, and Jin is dozing on his arm. Mugen tries to pull it free, but Jin is more solid than he looks. Hesitant, he runs his hand through Jin’s hair, watching the long strands slide over his fingers like fine silk. Fuu’s gone, but he can’t shake the feeling of being caught, that someone is watching him.

Frustrated, he finally nudges Jin awake before he does anything else stupid.

“The hell do you get off?” he snaps as Jin sits up groggily. 

“You’re not well,” Jin answers without hesitation. Same bullshit from the temple, as if he can do anything about it. There are lines in his face from where he was pressed against Mugen’s futon. He tries to smooth down the stray hair sticking wildly from his face, but he misses most of it. Mugen stops himself from helping.

“I’m _fine._ ” 

Jin looks at him flatly, but says nothing. When his eyes fall to search the floor for his hairband and glasses, Mugen points angrily at the other side of the fire pit. Before Jin can get to his feet, Mugen storms over to his clothes drying by the fire. He stomps into his shorts before Fuu gets back and says nothing else to Jin.

Jin doesn’t seem interested in talking, either.

They stay another two nights in the shack on the beach before travelling again. The space is small enough that Jin doesn’t seem to find it odd curling close to Mugen when they sleep. At least Fuu doesn’t say anything else about it. 

Once they set out, Mugen tries to strike a balance between avoiding Jin and refusing to leave him alone with Fuu. There’s no telling what she’d say to him without Mugen in earshot, but being too close to him makes Mugen’s skin itch. He doesn’t trust him either way.

When they stop for lunch in a small village not much farther down the road, Jin asks how he’s feeling. His voice is casual, barely glancing back in Mugen’s direction, but Mugen feels the blood pick up in his veins. 

“None of your damn business, is how.”

Jin sighs, but doesn’t ask again.

When Fuu tries asking sometime later, Mugen bites his tongue. If he makes her angry, she may get revenge by talking to Jin about their little heart-to-heart. His head is killing him, he’s starving and exhausted, and they’ve been travelling since practically sunrise.

“I’m _great,_ ” he grumbles sardonically.

With Mugen still on the mend they stop for the day in a little inland village. They haven’t made good time but Mugen is just happy to be away from the sea. At the inn, Fuu conspicuously suggests two rooms. After several nights in a row in such a small rundown shack, it doesn’t sound out of the ordinary, but Mugen still notices the way she smiles about it.

Mugen takes the _tatami_ mat at the far end of their room. “You stay over there,” he tells Jin, pointing to the mat by the door. “And I mean _stay_ there.”

“As you wish,” Jin answers, setting down his swords.

Through the night, Mugen lies awake. He watches shadows flicker through the window as he waits for Jin’s quiet snore to fill the room, but it doesn’t. He can’t sleep knowing Jin is still awake. The minute he falls asleep, Jin will wander over beside him, whether he does it on purpose or not. Finally, Mugen props himself up on his elbows and looks over to him in the dark. 

“What’re you still doin’ awake?”

Jin turns to face him, but doesn’t answer right away.

“It’s difficult to monitor you from this distance.”

Mugen squints. “ _Monitor_ me?”

“You do not have to be my mate for me to be concerned for your health.”

Mugen pushes himself up into a sitting position and glares. It’s hard to tell if Jin can see him in the dark — he can barely make out Jin from the other side of the room — but he glares anyway. 

“What’s with you? I’m fuckin’ fine. Nothin’ is even _wrong_ with me this time.”

It’s not entirely true, but it’s true enough.

“You nearly died,” Jin points out calmly. It’s quiet for a moment before he adds, “I thought you had.”

Mugen tilts his head. Jin sounds oddly timid, and it reluctantly bleeds the anger out of Mugen. Clearing his throat, he finally offers, “Well. I didn’t.”

Scoffing, Jin rolls onto his back, looking to the ceiling. Mugen watches him in the faint light, waiting for him to say something else, anything related to what Fuu had told him. It feels strange, knowing how distressed he’d been when Mugen wasn’t there to witness it.

“Almost, though. I think.”

Jin looks back at Mugen then.

“I mean, it’s — who knows what it is. Dreams, I guess. These shadows, been followin’ me around since I was a kid. Waiting for me to die.”

For a long drag of silence, Jin doesn’t know how to react. “Waiting —?”

“Seen ‘em a few times now. Always manage to get away from ‘em, though.”

Jin sits up and looks at him. He still doesn’t know what to say, and Mugen watches his hand clench and release like a tick, suppressing the urge to take some sort of action.

He regrets mentioning it now. Even in the dark, Mugen can see the blood draining from Jin’s face. He breaks eye contact with Mugen to stare down at his hands. 

“Fought ‘em off same as always,” Mugen assures, feeling somewhat foolish for mentioning it. Jin probably doesn’t even believe him. “Not — nothin’ to worry about. Made it out fine.”

Jin presses his hands to the floor, but then puts them awkwardly back in his lap. He wants to go to Mugen, but Mugen had asked him to stay away from him. So he does. There’s a twinge of guilt in Mugen’s chest. Maybe Jin does believe him. He gets to his knees and scoots to a closer mat. He tries not to read too much into it when Jin’s shoulders sag in relief. He doesn’t look up from his lap. There’s still a full _tatami_ between them.

Silence stretches when Jin has nothing to say, and Mugen is uncomfortably aware of making it worse. He changes the subject.

“When you killed — when you killed Mukuro —” Mugen starts, and Jin tisks, making him hesitate. “Why’d you do it? He wasn’t yours to kill.”

“His sister begged me to.” Jin raises his head but doesn’t look at Mugen. 

Mugen’s back goes tense at mention of Kohza. Not for the first time, he wonders if leaving her alive was the best idea. He’s not sure if it’s regret he feels, but he wonders if he should’ve helped her before. He got out when Kohza couldn’t. Maybe things would’ve been different if she had. If he’d helped her. He doesn’t want to dwell on it. She turned on him. If he regrets leaving her alive, he’d only regret helping her more. 

He can feel Jin watching him for a moment before his voice breaks the silence again, soft and tight. “I would have taken his life with or without her influence.”

He doesn’t ask why. Jin doesn’t offer to tell him. Mugen goes back to his original question. “How — how’d you do it?”

“My sword,” Jin answers flatly. 

Mugen frowns, fantasy crumbling before Jin adds without the slightest change in inflection, “Before ripping the throat from him.”

Arousal cuts like a knife below Mugen’s navel. He swallows, loudly. 

It happened. Jin’s demeanor had slipped, just for a moment. Mugen tries to picture it, Jin’s mouth dripping in blood, hands stained red. Mugen hadn’t smelled any blood when he saw Jin on the shore. He must’ve washed it all off of himself in the ocean before he’d spotted him.

Mugen wishes he hadn’t.

Clearing his throat, Mugen smirks. “Isn’t that overkill?”

It means to come off like a joke, but there’s no teasing lilt to it. His voice is barely a hoarse whisper. There’s a long beat before Jin turns to face him, his eyes dark even in the dim light of the room.

“No.”

He’s not in heat, but Mugen feels the hint of slick on his thighs. Heart pounding in his ears, he inches closer to Jin, subtly sniffing the air for the residual smell of blood. Jin had killed for him. More than that, Jin had killed _because_ of him, ripped another Alpha apart in revenge. A shiver runs down Mugen’s back, and Jin’s breath catches. When Mugen reaches for him, Jin wraps his fingers around the bands along his bony wrist. 

The touch is comforting, soft. His thumb brushes over the inside of Mugen’s tattoo, back and forth, and Mugen looks up at his face, watching the tension ease from his expression.

Monitor him. Jin is relaxed by the beat of Mugen’s pulse.

 _He didn’t sleep._ Mugen tries to swallow, but his throat is like sand.

“Hey —”

Jin’s eyes whip to him in an instant. He doesn’t speak, and he doesn’t release Mugen’s wrist. Mugen stares down at where their hands meet. He doesn’t want him to. He just wants to be closer.

Outside of his heats, Mugen has never slept with an Alpha. Since his alignment set in, he’s always been more talk than action when it came to sex as it is. People don’t ask alignment questions if he gives them the answers they want to hear. But this is different. Nothing has happened yet, but it already isn’t what Mugen was expecting. He’s not sure what to do now, with Jin’s fingers holding his arm down so firmly.

Taking a deep breath, Jin looks Mugen dead in the eye. He still says nothing, but his hands slip the robe from Mugen’s shoulders in one slow push. The red robe pools to the ground, and Jin tugs his shirt over his head.

“I’m not —” Mugen cuts himself off.

“I know.”

Something warm twists in Mugen’s stomach. His mouth is hanging open as he stares back at Jin, so he snaps it shut. Of course he knows. So what is he doing? The question sticks in his throat. Jin doesn’t say anything else. He takes more care to the nest this time, like the one he’d built at the temple. Mugen watches in silence, able to reach out and touch Jin if he wanted, but he stays still, entranced. Jin strips, dim light bathing the lines of his body as he throws his robe over the center of the nest.

He pokes at it a moment, inspecting, and without the rush of instinct making him helplessly impatient, Mugen has to smile. He doesn’t notice it, during heats, what a perfectionist he is even in this. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, and Mugen leans forward, curious if it’s out of pride or derision. 

It looks fine to Mugen. He isn’t sure what a nest is supposed to look like, anyway. “I gotta ask,” he says finally, voice wary, “do you even know any other Alphas who pull this old-fashioned nest shit?”

Surprisingly, Jin smiles. “I hardly see why that’s relevant.” 

The question at least keeps him from fussing with the nest any further. He takes Mugen’s hand and leads him in first, giving him a gentle push until he drops back against the futons. Even as Mugen burrows into it automatically, he asks, tone cheeky, “What happened to _’you’re still recovering, I would only hurt you’_?”

That, unfortunately, isn’t as amusing to Jin. Without answering, he pulls the band from his hair and sets his glasses down on the floor. He tucks his fingers under Mugen’s chin and holds his face still. He says nothing for far too long, and the joke to Mugen’s question disappears. The eye contact starts to make Mugen a little dizzy.

“I won’t hurt you,” Jin answers finally, voice low. “I swear it.”

It makes Mugen chuckle before he can stop himself. “Damn, you’re serious.”

Jin frowns at him, and Mugen feels bad enough to stifle it. He tries to nod, but Jin is still holding his chin firm. Swallowing hard, he manages sheepishly, “Okay.”

Jin nods, releases his chin and slides his fingers over the back of Mugen’s head. His hands are light, hesitant, as if afraid Mugen might shatter. Jin’s other hand starts at Mugen’s cheek and skates down, over the skin stretched tight over his rib cage to dip along his side. Jin’s not saying anything, eyes watching him breathe and tense under his fingers. Mugen’s never been treated this way. Fragile. Like glass. He’s certainly never liked it before.

It’s strange, being able to focus on Jin’s movements, on his face. Without his blood boiling just under his skin, Jin’s touch burns trails as it moves over his body. Has he always been this warm? Jin’s eyes follow along the trail his pale fingers map over Mugen’s arms, resting again on his tattoos. Jin seems to be looking for something; imploring. Mugen’s not sure what he wants. Mukuro never touched him, outside of his heats.

Mukuro never touched him like this at all.

“Don’t think about him.” Jin’s voice is barely a breath. Mugen’s heart seizes in his chest. Jin’s hands are tracing over his ribs now, eyes dark. “You always start trembling when you think — just look at me.”

Blinking, Mugen’s eyes meet his, but it’s hard to do as he asks. Jin’s always so intense about everything. It’s easy enough to handle when it’s something Mugen can tease, but when Jin has that look on his face just to stare back at him, Mugen feels his jaw wrench tight. Jin’s eyes are wide and focused, as if drinking him in. His thumb rolls over Mugen’s jaw, tilting his neck back. Mugen’s vision swims, and Jin presses his face tight into Mugen’s neck. Teeth graze over his throat. Mugen gasps, but Jin doesn’t bite down. Just breathes.

It’s like Jin can’t keep his hands still. Cupping Mugen’s face, rolling down his neck, splaying over his chest, his ribs. Jin is shaking, crouched over him. It’s not the frenzied, demanding need he gets when Mugen is in heat. It’s something else, still barely restrained, but delicate. Soft. He lets out a gasp against Mugen’s throat, and Mugen’s eyes slide shut. Before he can stop himself, Mugen thinks of that brothel woman in Hamamatsu. Had Jin been this way with her?

There’s no way to tell if Jin senses where his mind goes, but when Mugen opens his eyes again, Jin’s expression has softened.

“Shh.” He presses his forehead to Mugen’s, and Mugen feels something in his chest loosen. “It’s alright.”

Mugen can’t tell if he moves first or if it’s Jin who kisses him. Jin’s mouth is tender and careful, hands framing Mugen’s face to hold him still. His knees bracket Mugen’s waist, crouching and pressing him into the soft bedding of their nest. He’s not trapped. He’s not pinned. He’s not kept. This isn’t anything like that.

He must be shaking again, because Jin’s hands rub gently over Mugen’s arms. He pulls back from the kiss, just to murmur softly against Mugen’s neck. “Shh, it’s alright.” 

There’s a tongue against his pulse, light, careful and warm. Jin’s not caught up in pheromones or losing track of words. He’s just scenting, just to relax him. Mugen whimpers, and Jin stops, wrapping an arm around to cradle the back of Mugen’s head. He’s still nuzzled close, and for an instant Mugen thinks he’ll start scenting him again, but instead Jin presses his lips in the crook of Mugen’s neck. Mugen’s body goes slack at the touch, and he seizes a handful of Jin’s loose hair to keep from falling.

“I want —” Mugen manages hoarsely before dragging Jin’s mouth back to his. Jin cups his cheek holding him close, and nods. 

He can’t break the kiss. Mugen makes sure of it, even as he drags Mugen’s hips forward to slide into him. He goes easily, and Mugen keens. It’s never felt so _solid._ There’s no fog or haze to breathe through. All there is is this, the immediacy and rhythm. Skin and warmth and Jin’s hair in his hands. Mugen’s head falls back against the nest and he groans.

“F — fuck.”

Startled, Jin twists out of Mugen’s grip, leaving him grappling for purchase. Recovering quickly, Jin’s hand flies out to take it. 

“It’s alright,” he says again, voice quiet and soothing. “It’s alright. Mugen, look at me.”

The sound of his name causes Mugen to gasp, and Jin presses close to him, foreheads touching, breathing the same air. Without the reckless cloud of his heat, the knot in Jin’s cock sears Mugen’s skin as it begins to swell, stretching too far. Mugen’s teeth clench against a scream, but Jin holds his face until Mugen finally opens his eyes.

Jin smiles at the sight of him, a winded little twitch at the corner of his mouth. It looks different, on his face. Smooth and relaxed, like when he sleeps. The stretch eases, and Mugen exhales through his teeth.

“That’s it,” Jin murmurs, voice low. “Breathe.”

He never talks this much. Or at least Mugen’s never been clear-headed enough to notice before if he has. Then again, Mugen isn’t ever this quiet. Maybe the silence just makes Jin ramble. 

He’s trying to piece together some way of teasing him when Jin whispers, “I’ve got you.”

Mugen jerks, an orgasm heaving through his body. He claws at Jin, desperate to be closer as the shocks pulse through him. Jin drops his weight onto Mugen, curling over him to hold him close. Mugen is still shaking, and Jin nips him behind the ear, gentle. Almost playful. 

As Mugen comes back to himself, he doesn’t let go, face nuzzled up against Jin’s neck. Even without the drive of heat, he’s desperate to breathe him in. No one has ever smelled so _good._ They’re still locked, and Mugen squirms back against Jin’s cock. The burn has faded, and he’s left helpless for the contact. Jin is pressed up against him as much as physically possible and it’s still not enough. None of this is enough. Mugen locks his ankles around Jin’s waist and whimpers.

“Please —”

Jin is moving so carefully. His hips roll with purposeful, dragging rhythm, and Mugen is about out of his mind. Nails digging into Jin’s chest, Mugen feels something give, babbling nonsense as his head falls back against the nest. Jin’s pace doesn’t change, he just presses his face against Mugen’s skin, licks a stripe against Mugen’s throat. Mugen whines, head spinning. Jin’s skin is burning to the touch and Mugen can’t stop twisting. 

He needs more, faster, harder, but none of it will leave his mouth. He latches his hands back in Jin’s hair, twisting hard to hold tight. 

All he manages is a thready, “ _Please._ ”

Jin turns his head and noses at the pulse in Mugen’s wrist, dragging his tongue over his tattoos. 

The touch turns Mugen’s blood to boiling, and he tugs at Jin’s hair to hoist himself up, sinking into Jin’s lap. Jin shudders, and Mugen can’t breathe. Jin’s eyes lose focus and fall shut as his hips push forward. Mugen’s hands clench tight in Jin’s hair. Jin groans, dragging his tongue over the center of Mugen’s chest. For a moment, everything washes over white. There’s a breath of nothing as his body reaches a point past sensation and the world goes snowy. When shapes blink back into place, Jin is watching him, eyes wide, arms wrapped around Mugen’s bony middle to hold him still. 

Mugen’s chest is heaving. Jin doesn’t even blink. Fingers curl into Mugen’s hair and pull him down, back into a kiss. Jin is still so careful and delicate, no different than the way he is in a swordfight. He somehow still manages to calculate every action, hand clenched hard in Mugen’s hair as he holds him captive in the kiss. It’s intoxicating, and Mugen sags against him, twitching when Jin’s hands slide down over his hips. When the kiss breaks, Jin watches him, head tilted back, and Mugen’s chest tightens. 

Holding Mugen down against his cock, Jin starts to move again. It’s different, deeper, and Mugen can barely keep his head up.

“No,” Jin says the instant Mugen’s head falls back onto his shoulders, “Look at me.”

Mugen’s neck snaps upright, clamoring to obey. His eyes sting, desperate to blink, but he won’t look away. Jin’s hand is damp against Mugen’s face, brushing over his cheek.

“That’s it, Mugen,” Jin whispers, voice strained. “Good boy.”

Air leaves Mugen’s lungs in a punch and won’t come back. His vision swims, and for an instant it’s no different than sinking to the bottom of the ocean. His mind goes blank. The orgasm hits him so suddenly that he falls forward, dropping Jin back onto the nest. All he knows is Jin, hands on his face, coming into him so hard Mugen can feel him panting wet against his shoulder.

When thoughts come back to Mugen, they come all at once. _What was he thinking? Can’t happen again. Has to. His. Want. Stay. Mate._ Mugen shakes his head, trying to clear the cacophony, but Jin’s hands are light on his face, carefully tilting him down to meet his eyes.

He wipes his thumb absently over Mugen’s cheek, and Mugen twitches. Jin is panting so hard it takes him several seconds to speak.

“All — all right?”

All he has to do is nod. Say he’s fine. Yes. Good. Anything. But Jin has that look on his face again, watching Mugen with something almost like devotion, and Mugen doesn’t want it to stop. Instead of answering, he pulls Jin back into a kiss, stealing the breath from him.

The dawn is creeping through the rice paper doors, turning their whole room pink as Mugen pulls away to sleep. They don’t really disentangle themselves. Instead, Mugen just curls into Jin as if he’s part of the nest. One hand drawing circles at the base of Mugen’s neck, Jin tugs his robe over the both of them as a blanket and falls asleep.

It hasn’t been much more than a couple hours when Mugen regains consciousness. He can tell without opening his eyes that it it’s still far too early. But for whatever reason, Jin is awake. Mugen can hear him shuffling to get comfortable in their nest. Mugen pretends to still be asleep, if only because he plans on not pretending soon enough. 

Jin is always awake before him. Mugen huffs, hoping it sounds enough like a noise he’d make in his sleep.

Jin’s watching him, he can feel it without even seeing. He’s not sure what that means now, let alone what he could want it to mean. He has a hard time understanding what any of it means. Jin’s hands roll over Mugen’s skin. At first Mugen assumes he’s trying to wake him, but the touch is too gentle for that.

Then, so light Mugen almost doesn’t feel it, Jin swipes two fingers just along Mugen’s throat. Tracing a collar.

Mugen’s eyes snap open.

Daylight is faint and murky through the windows and rice paper, but the room is bright enough to see Jin’s face. His eyes are already cast down from Mugen’s neck, enthralled in the dips and angles of his ribs. The lines are still soft in his expression, the way he’d looked when Mugen watched him sleep. He looks relaxed and young, and Mugen feels his heart is in his throat.

Sensing Mugen’s eyes on him, Jin glances up, looking caught. His hand flinches away from Mugen’s skin. Mugen doesn’t think he’s ever seen that expression on Jin’s face before.

“Did I wake you?”

He doesn’t answer, words trapped behind his teeth. Jin sounds so tender and apologetic, Mugen’s afraid to say anything at all. He drops his gaze from Jin’s face. Worried, Jin stretches his hand out to brush the hair from Mugen’s eyes, but Mugen twitches away from him.

Jin’s face falls, and Mugen tastes guilt bitter and thick at the back of his throat. He sits up with a groan, and Jin watches him as he rifles through their nest for his shorts. 

“Are you alright?”

Mugen winces. “Never better.”

Jin is silent as Mugen gets dressed. Finally, he whispers, “I apologize if last night was —”

“ _Fucking hell,_ ” Mugen cuts him off. 

He can’t hear it, can’t hear Jin fumble to take it back. He can’t hear him apologize for whatever the fuck that was and then promise to never do it again. He can’t think about this anymore. Just a slip-up. Jin will get over it and so will he. He grits his teeth and tries to shake the quiet cloying feeling from his chest.

Clearing his throat, Mugen grumbles,“We should wake the girl and get going.”

When he turns his head, Jin is looking at his hands, folded neatly in his lap, the way they had been the night before, when Mugen had opened up about drowning. The way they had been before Mugen closed the distance between them and acted without thought.

This can’t happen. It won’t. Mugen scratches a phantom itch along the base of his throat and kicks on his shoes left in the doorway. Fuck, he’s sore. “Let’s go.”

“It’s far too early to leave now,” Jin reminds him, not looking up from his hands.

Mugen stares out the doorway. He knew that. “Whatever. I’ll find us some breakfast. _Then_ we can get going.”

Jin stands, naked, and Mugen looks away from him. Since when has he been such an exhibitionist? As if reading his mind, Jin picks one of the futons from the floor to cover himself. Mugen doesn’t look back at him. He can’t.

“I’ll grab us some fish or somethin’,” he says, sliding the door open. “You stay here. You can’t fish for shit, anyway.”

“Hold on,” Jin answers, snatching Mugen’s wrist.

Back going rigid, Mugen tears his arm away. 

“Get _off_ me!” His voice is too shrill, too panicked, and Jin reels backward in surprise. “I’m not your fucking bitch, alright? You can’t just boss me around!”

Jin narrows his eyes, confused, and Mugen slams the door hard enough behind him that it bounces back open. He doesn’t look back, and Jin doesn’t follow him.


	5. Chapter 5

When they start on their journey again, there’s a rift between the two of them. Mugen refuses to be alone with Jin. When they stop at an inn cheap enough for two rooms, Mugen walks the gardens at night until he’s sure Jin is asleep. It’s possible that sometimes he isn’t actually asleep, but at least he never confronts Mugen.

He’s not sure if Fuu has anything to say to Jin, but she certainly has nothing to say to Mugen. Every time he sits next to her when they stop for a meal, she huffs and pointedly ignores him. Fine. He can handle her being pissed at him. It’s better than dealing with Jin.

As his heat approaches, Mugen scrapes together enough money to buy an Alpha prostitute. He doesn’t usually bother with them, but the idea of Jin coming after him again while Mugen is too weak to fight him off is enough motivation. The night he feels it coming, he stashes his sword beside his _tatami_ mat and heads to the nearest brothel. He hears Jin sit up to watch him leave, but he won’t follow. He’s barely said two words to Mugen since the last time they fucked.

The one he buys is pretty, with broad shoulders and delicate hands, and more of a smirk than a smile. She’s quiet while she fucks him, and Mugen tries not to think it’s Jin’s breath in his ear. He only comes once before he shoves her off and hands her the silver. Good enough.

When he returns to the inn, he can tell Jin is awake. He listens to him twist and turn in an effort to get comfortable before he gathers his swords and leaves the room. Mugen falls asleep before he comes back.

The next morning, Fuu shoves him into the hot spring outside, fully-clothed. 

“The hell was that for?” Mugen shouts as he resurfaces.

“You smell _atrocious._ ”

Mugen is able to keep it up until they begin travelling with Sara. The presence of another Alpha brings up the memory of Mukuro’s death, and of Jin’s primal violence. It’s hard to shake the thought from his head. _He killed for you once, he could do it again._

Sara spurns something in Jin, as well. Deep-seated and possessive. Mugen’s flirting with her seems to be the only thing that manages to get under Jin’s skin. He doesn’t let Mugen walk as far from him as he had before — certainly no closer to Sara. When the girls find an inn that splits them into different rooms, the two of them forget to sleep apart, Jin spooned against Mugen’s back, his nose fitted into the dip of Mugen’s throat. Mugen falls asleep instantly to the calming rhythm of Jin’s breathing.

It takes several minutes sprawled against Jin in the daylight for Mugen to remember to be embarrassed. Jin’s eyes are on him as he toes into his shoes, but he doesn’t say anything. He seems to understand a level of truce without Mugen actually having to say anything.

The silence between them that Mugen had grown so comfortable with is unbearable now. He feels Jin’s eyes on his back, unblinking and calculating. The girls are far enough ahead to be out of earshot when he finally blurts, “Ain’t there fancy _samurai_ mating rules?”

Jin blinks. “I’m sorry?”

Mugen shrugs, trying to come off as flippant.

“Shouldn’t you be mated by now, anyway? Have a little wife to breed?”

If the question bothers Jin, he doesn’t let it show on his face. He keeps his eyes forward as he walks.

“Typically the _sensei_ chooses his students’ mates when they graduate from the _dojo_. Part of the shame of killing my master is that I remain alone.”

Mugen sucks at his teeth. He’s sorry he asked. The question is on the tip of his tongue — _do you have to?_ — but it sounds far too invested. Mugen bites the inside of his cheek.

He hasn’t asked anything else, but Jin offers, “Generally, a _samurai’s_ mate is strictly for breeding purposes.”

The image runs through Mugen’s head before he can stop it: being boarded up in a pretty little house, dressed in all sorts of fancy Japanese silks with his hair grown long. He thinks of living a life where swords and fighting are deemed off-limits as he’s bred full of pups every other heat, learning bullshit like tea ceremonies while Jin spends weeks at a time on the road. He stops walking for a moment. He doesn’t want it. He doesn’t want any of it. But he feels his cock twitch.

Jin doesn’t seem to notice Mugen has fallen behind. Mugen is able to catch himself and fall back in step while Jin is still talking. “Seeing as how I’ve no interest in breeding, I’ve never bothered to find a mate on my own.”

Mugen feels his spine relax, as if it really mattered. For a moment, they’re both silent. There’s a moment of panic where Mugen assumes asking Jin so many questions will make him curious enough to ask his own, but he doesn’t. Before Mugen can ask any more, Fuu notices them lagging behind and stops walking.

“Hurry up you two,” she snaps, “I’m hungry!”

It’s inaccurate to say they work for Sara, but she does give them the routine of regular meals and comfortable places to sleep as they travel with her. Even the occasional times the four of them share the same place to sleep, Jin has taken it upon himself to close the space between him and Mugen. Mugen doesn’t protest, though he wonders again if it has anything to do with Sara.

Though Jin regards her with a genuine pleasantness, Mugen can’t help but sense a faint sort of antagonism. He assumes it’s common with two Alphas traveling together. He has no other evidence to go on. He entertains the idea that it’s due to himself, but he knows better. As much as Mugen tries to impress Sara as they go along, she doesn’t seem interested in him beyond friendly affection. Though Mugen flirts and teases her, he’s not sure what he’d do with anything further, anyway. Especially after she mentions a child. Still, any attention she pays him is appreciated. Not many people enjoy talking about the dark sides of their lives. Like Mugen, Sara seems to have little else.

They’ve been traveling with her for some time when one night, the four of them divided into two rooms, Jin props up against the door to sleep. Mugen sets his sword beside his _tatami_ mat without undressing. He knows why he’s doing this, but he plays dumb.

“What if I gotta go somewhere?”

For a moment, Jin says nothing. “I would prefer you didn’t.” 

Warmth crawls up from the base of Mugen’s neck. He sits down on his _tatami_ without thinking to. 

“Well why should I give a damn what you prefer?” he croaks. 

Jin shakes his head. His knuckles are white in his lap. “You shouldn’t.”

Mugen frowns down at himself. It isn’t just the heat convincing himself he’s being stubborn again. They haven’t needed to raise any money themselves with Sara around. He has no nest egg this month around to buy an Alpha whore, and running off now that there’s a second Alpha in their party could only cause a problem. He’s not sure if Sara knows, but if he still has a chance at keeping it from her, he’ll take it.

He tisks, loud enough that Jin looks up. Fine.

“You gonna — just stand watch or you gonna fuck me?”

Rather than stripping entirely when Jin gets to his feet, he only sheds his robe. He drops it to pool at Mugen’s back and his scent curls around Mugen like a presence. Jin doesn’t even take down his hair. He looks different, in just the _juban._ Younger, sleeker. Mugen stares at him until Jin insists quietly, “Lie back.”

Mugen is flat on his back before he’s even sure he’s heard the words. His body does it without permission. Jin kneels at Mugen’s feet and sets his glasses down beside him. Without looking up, he silently works Mugen’s shorts off of his skinny legs. Mugen stares at the ceiling and waits. He’s not used to waiting. Jin tends to work quicker than this.

Without warning, a tongue slides along the inside of his thigh, and Mugen jolts up with a shout.

“What — what’re you —”

Jin’s eyes flick up to look at him, but he doesn’t answer, dragging his tongue through the slick on Mugen’s skin. It’s warm and wet and careful, and Mugen’s head rolls back to watch the ceiling. He’s never had an Alpha touch him like this. He didn’t even realize it was something Alphas did. Jin’s mouth is still working over his his skin, teasing. His tongue traces lines down Mugen’s thighs and at the slick gathering between his legs. Mugen won’t look at him. His head is swimming. He feels Jin’s fingers thin and firm against his chest and lets them push him back against the floor. Against Jin’s robe.

His scent is thick as Mugen falls back, dizzying and heavy. He sinks into it, twisting his fingers into the fabric and keening. Jin’s mouth is open and hot against Mugen’s skin, tongue starting to drag slower and flatter. Mugen whimpers. The touch is so soft it’s maddening, and he drops his hold on Jin’s robe to grab for Jin’s hair. It’s difficult, with his hair still pulled back, and all Mugen manages to do is drag his nails hard along Jin’s scalp.

When Jin gasps, Mugen feels it, sharp and cool racing up his spine. He locks his legs around the back of Jin’s neck and whines. It’s hard to breathe, his vision fading. He’s vaguely aware of his mouth running — begging — but he can’t hear himself over the pounding of his heart in his ears. Even still, Jin takes his time, sliding his tongue just out of reach until Mugen is writhing on the floor.

Mugen is nearly out of his mind when Jin pulls away. Mugen cries out, hysterical, and Jin presses close to him, cupping his cheek and pressing his mouth to Mugen’s ear.

“You’ll wake the whole inn this way.” Jin’s voice comes out like a purr, and Mugen feels it like water in his spine. He shivers, and Jin nips his ear. “Can you be quiet, or will I be forced to gag you?”

The question alone turns his blood hot. Thrashing, Mugen twists his head to pull Jin’s fingers into his mouth. Speaking is too much effort. Jin sits back to watch him, eyes bright. It takes him a moment to pull his hand away. He grabs the red sash that ties his swords from the floor and folds it over into a tight square before holding it out to Mugen. Mugen takes it with his teeth, and Jin smiles.

“Much better.”

With the _obi_ stuffed in his mouth, Jin’s scent is overpowering, and Mugen melts limp against the floor. Jin slides back in between Mugen’s legs and Mugen reaches weakly for his hair, burying his nails in Jin’s scalp again.

Groaning, Jin finally wraps his mouth over Mugen’s cock, and Mugen screams against the cloth in his mouth. Jin drags his lips down and back until Mugen is tearing at his hair, one hand still wound in Jin’s robe underneath him. When Mugen’s hips start to twitch, Jin’s hand splays out under his navel and pushes down, holding him flat to the floor.

Vision pouring over white, Mugen comes, throat raw as Jin swallows through it. He comes back to himself faded and limp, Jin’s tongue lapping at his skin. Mugen shivers and whines, teeth clenched against the sash in his mouth.

He expects Jin to speak, or at least sit back from between his legs, but he does neither, easing his mouth back over Mugen’s cock.

Mugen cries out, seeing stars as he bolts upright, curling over Jin in his lap. _Quiet quiet quiet._ He’s babbling through clenched teeth, cloth damp in his mouth, and Jin looks up at him. His eyes are dark and focused, cheeks hollowed, and Mugen can’t breathe.

He comes so hard that he slumps forward into Jin, whimpering against the sash as Jin pulls it from his teeth. He’s limp against Jin’s shoulders, nearly fallen over. Carefully, Jin gets to his knees. He’s trembling when he pulls Mugen into his lap, over his dark _hakama_ and Mugen squirms against him, desperate to please, until his legs fall on either side of Jin’s waist. Jin holds him tight, one hand cupped loosely over Mugen’s throat as the other teases his cock. Mugen keeps his jaw locked tight, determined not to cry out even without the gag, dropping his forehead against Jin’s shoulder.

Jin notices, grazing his teeth against Mugen’s throat. 

“Good boy.” 

It comes out more growl than words, slurring and deep. Mugen whines, trying to curl into Jin as best he can. Jin lets go of his throat to nest his hand in Mugen’s wild hair and pull him close, pressing his teeth against Mugen’s throat.

Mugen whines, squirming against him. He’s desperate. _Bite._ He’s good. He can be good. _Please please please._ He lifts his hand to claw limply at Jin’s chest, but Jin doesn’t increase the pace of his hand, doesn’t bite down. Mugen’s chest is heaving. He can be good. He wants it. _Please._

He needs to beg, but he can’t recall the words. His mouth hangs open and he whines, helpless, as Jin works him over, teeth poised over his throat. Mugen can feel his breath shaking, wet and hot against his skin, and he loses track of himself, plea finally spilling out of his mouth.

“ _Yours_.”

Jin’s breath hitches, hard enough that Mugen can feel it jerk deep against his own chest, and Mugen falls apart, coming in Jin’s hand.

It’s hard to keep his head up, exhausted and dazed. He curls against Jin, fading in and out nested in his lap. He watches lazily as Jin lifts his hand from Mugen and brings it to his mouth, silently licking it clean before shuffling the two of them back onto the _tatami_ to fall asleep.

Mugen wakes up the next morning draped across Jin’s lap. Jin is awake, mending his _obi_ with a thread. Jin doesn’t seem to notice Mugen’s eyes on him, working quietly. It takes a long moment through his sleep-addled brain for the night before to piece together. When it does, Mugen’s blood runs cold.

He tastes it in the back of his throat like something rancid. _“Yours.”_

Heart racing, Mugen sits up. Jin’s robe falls unexpectedly from his shoulders, and he yelps. Jin’s eyes dart to him for a moment before turning back to his _obi._

“The girls are still asleep,” he says, voice light. He dips his head forward to cut the thread with his teeth. “It’s still quite early.”

He runs the thread back through the needle and begins stitching again. Mugen stares at him, throat going dry. Anxiety claws under his skin, and he scans the room for his shorts, jumping to his feet to grab them. Finally, Jin hesitates in what he’s doing.

“Are you alright?”

What kind of question is that? How is Jin so damn calm, anyway? Shouldn’t he at least be irritated for having to mend his stupid sash?

“What — what was that? Last night?” Mugen finally asks, tongue sticking to the roof of his mouth. “What’d you — why’d you do that to me?”

Jin raises his eyebrows. He doesn’t seem to understand the question. He pockets his _obi_ and thread without looking at it. “You asked me to. I was only trying to help.”

“Bull — bullshit.” Mugen hates that his voice is shaking. Mukuro would call him pathetic. Jin only looks contrite.

Mugen’s not sure which is worse.

“I don’t know what you’re playin’ at,” he snaps, shouldering his sword, “but I ain’t nobody’s breeding stock. This shit ends when we find the girl’s _samurai_. Don’t think I won’t kill you just ‘cause you’re a good fuck.”

The air seems to leave the room in an instant.

Jaw clenched, Jin lifts his hands in surrender. Without a word, he gets to his feet, fastens his _kimono_ and gathers his swords off the floor. He falters, realizing a second too late that he has no _obi_ to tie them to, but recovers without looking up, and only tightens his grip on them.

“As you wish,” he snarls, shouldering past him to wake Fuu and Sara.

For the rest of the day, Jin doesn’t even look at him. Mugen pretends not to notice, but can’t shake himself out of his own head. It’s as if he’s drowning all over again, his stupid mistake chanting in his head as a humiliating echo. _Yours yours yours._

The girls notice. It’s hard not to. Sara has the tact not to mention anything, at least, but Fuu doesn’t. She tries to pull Mugen aside when Jin and Sara are far enough ahead of them, tugging gently on the sleeve of Mugen’s robe.

“What’s going on with you two?”

Mugen jerks himself free. “Fuck off.”

She pouts, but at least she doesn’t ask again.

Two days later, Fuu asks Jin to follow Sara, and he agrees without hesitation or question. Without even looking at Mugen. When Fuu admits she’d expected resistance, Mugen wants to shake her.

“Why the hell would you think _that?_ ”

She sniffles into her pink sleeve. “After all we’d been through —”

“Don’t be stupid. Do you even know the guy? _You’re_ the one who told him to go on this stupid journey with you in the first place!”

That just makes Fuu cry harder. Mugen feels a twinge of guilt and turns away from her, marching down the road to avoid eye contact. He hears the _thwack twack thwack_ of her sandals as she runs to catch up to him. 

“I thought he cared enough about us that he’d at least — I dunno — hesitate.”

It stings, for some reason, and Mugen rolls his eyes to hide the way he flinches. “The asshole is all about duty and honor and all that bullshit. If you didn’t want him to go, you shouldn’t have fucking asked him to, you moron.”

Tears are still in Fuu’s eyes when she glares at him. “You’re pinning this all on me?” she yells in a voice that would be too loud if there were other people nearby. Mugen keeps walking. “What went on between you two, anyway? Maybe if you’d stopped screwing with his head every month he wouldn’t have left at all!”

Mugen stops walking so abruptly that Fuu slams into him from behind. He wheels around to face her, and she stumbles.

“Where do you get off talkin’ like you know shit about that?” Mugen growls under his breath.

Fuu is unphased. She rubs furiously at the tear tracks on her face to give Mugen a look. “I told you before, the two of you aren’t subtle. After what happened to Mukuro, it’s not like I have to ask.”

Locking his jaw, Mugen storms forward.

“You can at least admit you’re upset, too,” Fuu calls after him.

Mugen pretends not to have heard her.

After the accident, when they find Sara in the river, something snaps. His vision washes over red and every thought leaves his mind but _find him._ He bolts, hair standing up on the back of his neck. This isn’t right. Something’s wrong. He can’t just be gone. Not like this. He wasn’t even supposed to leave. Why didn’t Mugen try to make him stay? There’s an acrid taste in Mugen’s mouth as he combs through the water for any sign of him.

_This is your fault._

He’s soaked through and shivering by the time he finds Jin’s glasses in the pebbles. He nearly drops them at first. There’s a sudden ringing in his ears, and he stumbles to the bank to sit down. This means he’s alive, doesn’t it? If his glasses are here without a sign of his body, that has to mean he’s wandering around half-blind looking for them. He must sit there for a while, waiting for Jin to show up and pluck his glasses from Mugen’s shaking hands. Jin’s not dead. He can’t be dead. If Sara’s alive, Jin has to be, too.

Mugen just has to find him.

But he doesn’t. Dusk eventually compels him out of the river. There’s a sick feeling in the pit of Mugen’s stomach when he comes back to their hut with nothing but Jin’s glasses. Sara is still unconscious, and Fuu’s positive resolve is cracking. She puts Jin’s glasses in a straw hat for safe keeping and tries to keep Mugen focused on other things. It doesn’t work. He sits next to the straw hat and kicks it around between his feet. He can’t help but picture Jin fumbling around the riverbank, trying to find shelter and food when he can’t even see a damn thing in front of his face. The guy can’t even fish to save his life, he’s probably screwed out there even if he _could_ see.

When he mumbles his thoughts to Fuu, she sighs. “Those are for show.”

Figures, the vain bastard. Mugen has to bite back the smirk on his face as he tosses the glasses over in his hands. Jin always thought he was so vague and mysterious, but without obscuring his face with some dumbass glasses, the guy’s an open book. Mugen always liked him better without them, anyway. He likes seeing what he’s thinking. Maybe he won’t give them back.

Fuu is watching him. Embarrassed, Mugen drops Jin’s glasses back into the hat and she smiles and goes back to tending to Sara.

Mugen rubs his shoulder without thinking. The scar is long gone, but it had been there. Jin had a duty to him, too. However briefly. Their last conversation plays through Mugen’s head like a mantra. Jin wouldn’t have left, if Mugen hadn’t told him to. He knows it. A shiver runs under Mugen’s skin, and he scoots closer to the fire. After a moment of hesitation, he uses his heel to kick the straw hat into his lap.

“Mugen…”

Mugen doesn’t answer. Whatever she has to say, it’s either something he already knows or doesn’t want to hear. They sit in silence for a moment, and then Fuu finally whispers, “He’s okay. We’ll find him.”

Mugen grunts. Just like he thought. He already knows that.

Silence stretches for a while longer. “I didn’t mean it,” Fuu says, staring at her hands placed carefully over her knees. “What I said. It’s — it’s not your fault, that he left.” 

Yes it is. Mugen sighs. “Shut up.”

She’s about to start crying again. Mugen can feel it. He’s not in the mood to deal with it, so he says grumpily, “You’re only sayin’ that ‘cause you think it’s yours.”

A sniffle. Mugen rolls his eyes. “He ain’t dead. He’ll be back.” 

As much as she wants to, Fuu doesn’t believe him. She hadn’t believed it when she said it, either. She’s still crying, but holding her breath, so that Mugen can’t hear her. She knows he won’t look at her when she’s upset. He stares defiantly at the ceiling of the hut and waits until she finally relaxes and curls up on the floor. It’s too dark to go back out and look for him, but the eerie silence of the hut sends Mugen pacing from end to end until Fuu scolds him.

“Get some sleep,” she tells him from where she lies curled up on the floor. “There’s nothing you can do now, anyway.”

His mind doesn’t quiet when he lays down. Something is left gnawing at the base of his skull. He keeps Jin’s glasses close to him, but it doesn’t help. Finally, he snatches them from the straw hat at his feet and walks over to Fuu. Tentatively, he sits beside her, hoping, for a moment, that she’s already asleep.

She’s not, but she doesn’t say anything. Just turns over and reaches out to take Mugen’s free hand. Sighing, Mugen lies down beside her. He can pretend he’s doing this for her. She’ll let him. She scoots closer and presses her side gingerly to Mugen’s back. It’s not the same, but it’s better. Mugen is able to sleep until daylight inches through the window. He goes back out for Jin before Fuu wakes up.

He doesn’t find Jin, but he finds Sara’s _yari._

For a long time, Mugen doesn’t move, just stands in the river’s slow current. The river laps noisily against his knees, but the sound fades against the ringing in his ears. He stares at the _yari_ until his vision doubles, and his knees give way without warning. He falls back in the water with a graceless splash. His head is pounding. This isn’t happening. He’ll wake up any minute. None of this has happened. He’ll wake up to Jin pressed against his back and the girls sleeping in the other room and the four of them can continue on at daybreak.

He waits until the water has seeped into his bones, freezing him from the inside out. It happened again. Lied to. She had fooled him, she’d fooled all of them. She fooled _Jin._ Mugen swallows, teeth chattering against each other, throat raw. He grabs the _yari_ and uses it to hoist himself out of the water. He’s soaked heavy as he drags himself back to the hut. He can’t let her live.

The fight is lost before he even really starts, and he knows it. He can’t focus on what he’s doing. His head is still pounding, ears still ringing. He can barely stay out of her way. Even as he runs, he can’t shake the thought. _Maybe Jin could. Maybe he got out._ He doesn’t let it take root. If she hadn’t killed him, he would’ve come back to warn him and Fuu. She took him. He’s gone. He’s gone and it’s her fault, and it’s not fair — he had left _so angry._

It’s hard to breathe. His vision is blurring, and she slices him across the gut when he can’t twist away fast enough.

The pain that explodes over his side is stupefying, and it’s difficult to get back to his feet. He hears Fuu calling his name, but doesn’t see her. Maybe he’s hallucinating. When he wraps a hand over his middle, he feels blood run over his fingers tacky and thick, soaking quickly in the water. Sara is speaking, but he can’t understand a word of what she’s saying. His ears are ringing too hard. He wonders, randomly, what Jin’s final thought had been. 

Before he catches his breath, Sara’s voice cuts into him. _“It’s as if you’ve never been loved by anyone.”_ He tastes blood all the way down his throat, and he flings himself forward. He’ll end it one way or another.

He doesn’t.

It’s Fuu who saves him in the end, throwing herself over his injured body. She’s kind that way. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t even want it. By the time he manages to push Fuu off him, Sara is walking away down the river bank. She doesn’t get to leave him like this. If Jin is dead, one of them is going to have to be dead along with him. His arms tremble, blood dripping from his mouth. He tries to crawl after her, but Fuu’s hands are cool on his arms, holding him back.

“Get off me,” Mugen says weakly.

Fuu doesn’t move. When she speaks, Jin’s voice leaves her mouth. “Be still.”

Everything goes black.

He doesn’t know how long he’s out before he comes to, Fuu bandaging his wounds. He shoves her away and rolls onto his side.

“Leave me alone.”

Frustrated, Fuu sighs. She offers to turn around, to call the whole thing off, but Mugen ignores her. It isn’t just a matter of this journey anymore. He’ll kill that woman if it’s the last thing he does. Fuu quietly stirs the paste she’d spread over Mugen’s wounds. 

“I don’t think he’d want you dying over this.”

“Oh, like you know what the fuck he’d want,” Mugen snaps. Pain forces him back against the floor before he even manages to sit up. “And like I give a damn either way.”

He doesn’t mean it to, but that makes Fuu laugh. It sounds raw, like she’s spent too long trying not to cry, but when she wipes tears onto her sleeve, she’s smiling.

“You’re so stupid.”

Despite himself, Mugen smirks. 

He’s not as angry when he rolls over to face the fire. He knocks the straw hat with his knee until it’s resting by his head. Sara could be wrong.

It’s painfully quiet in the hut that night. Fuu doesn’t even mention dinner. It’s just as well, Mugen isn’t really hungry. He fusses silently with a beetle he finds crawling through the floorboards, and the sun sets out the window before the two of them have shared five words with each other. Mugen is so engrossed with the little bug, he doesn’t even look up until Fuu screams.

Mugen’s heart stops. Jin is standing outside the window. Alive. He looks pale and tired, but he’s holding a basket full of fish, and for just a moment, when his eyes meet Mugen’s, he smiles. It’s faint, and exhausted, but it’s there. Does that mean he’s forgiven? Mugen is on his feet without telling himself to stand, at the window in a blink. Jin hands him the basket of fish, and Mugen takes it, blankly, and immediately drops it on the floor. Jin watches, curious, and looks back up at Mugen.

“Have you… already eaten?”

Mugen opens his mouth, but nothing comes out. He’s actually speechless, maybe for the first time in his life. He’s shaking, and Jin notices, eyes pausing on his hands. If the idiot asks Mugen if he’s okay, Mugen might have to deck him. But he’s here, and he’s real, and he’s _alive._ Jin had asked him something, but Mugen can’t remember what it was. He wants to answer. He wants to say _something._ His heart is in his throat and it’s painful to swallow. Jin is staring at him, and Mugen reaches forward, just to make sure. Just to see. 

Before he can touch him, Fuu catapults out of nowhere and tackles Jin backward in a hug. Like that, the spell is broken. Jin squawks as she falls into him, and Mugen looks down at the floor where she had been just a moment ago. He hadn’t even noticed her go out the door. He’d almost forgotten she was there at all. Fuu is sobbing, too excitedly to really understand. Jin’s carrying a walking stick for support, and is still hunched over when she pulls away. 

He remembers Jin carrying him back from the beach, and looks down at his feet. It’s only a few more steps to get inside. There’s no need to do that now.

Fuu insists on fussing over him after a warm meal, wrapping him up in a futon and pressing a warm wet cloth to his forehead. Mugen sits on the other side of the fire to give them space, but it’s as if the inside of him is filled with insects, pulling just under his skin, desperate to crawl forward. _Closer closer be closer._

Jin doesn’t look at him again, keeping his eyes shut as Fuu treats his cuts with stinging green paste. Mugen is rooted to the floor. If he opens his mouth, the wrong thing will come out. He can’t think past the distance between them. _He’s alive be closer be closer be closer._

Chest burning, he kicks Jin’s glasses to him.

The other two are both asleep when Mugen’s body finally gives, crawling on all fours to kneel beside Jin. He reaches out and places his hand over Jin’s chest. Breathing. Good. Mugen’s heart slows and his shoulders go slack. His own breathing comes easier. 

_“You’re not well.”_ Is this what it felt like?

Watching the rise and fall of Jin’s chest helps the pain in Mugen’s side lessen. Maybe Jin wasn’t such an old-fashioned idiot, after all. Mugen needs to get up — has to find Sara before she finds them — but the idea of leaving him here makes Mugen’s throat tight and raw. He spares Fuu a glance, fast asleep sitting up against the wall of the hut. She took care of Mugen. She’ll take care of Jin, too.

He looks back, just to check. It’s relaxing, watching him sleep. Mugen had been so sure he was gone. The steady rise and fall of Jin’s chest is almost hypnotic.

In the dying firelight, Mugen can just see the faint scar on Jin’s cheek that matches his own. His fingers move without permission, running soft and careful over the cut. The touch wakes Jin, and his eyes blink open. Mugen’s breath seizes, and for an instant, everything is still.

_I’m sorry._

He doesn’t say it. He grabs his sword off the floor and drags himself to his feet. He doesn’t want to kill her, but she hurt him. If he lets her come back, she’ll kill him.

Victory is shallow, and not how he pictured it. He only won because she let him. He should be dead. When he makes it back to the cabin, Fuu is awake. She rushes to him, checking for fresh wounds, but Mugen doesn’t have any. He stands there and lets her check, watching her face grow more and more surprised. He doesn’t tell her Sara threw the fight. It would break her to know Sara was just as much their friend as she’d pretended to be.

“Are you hungry? I can grill up some of the fish Jin brought...”

“No.”

“Some tea?”

Mugen drops his scabbard onto the floor with a _thunk_ and doesn’t answer. She takes it as a yes and runs to heat water in the pot. Jin is asleep again, black hair loose and wild on his pillow. Mugen watches him from where he stands for a moment before walking over and curling up against his side. It’s a wash of relief, the throb at the base of his skull going still. There’s no sting of embarrassment as he gets comfortable. He doesn’t care that Fuu sees. Jin was almost dead, and now so was Mugen. 

He hears the soft _clack_ of pots and wooden spoons falling quiet. She’s watching him now. He assumes that means he doesn’t have to wait for tea. He’s asleep before she says anything.


	6. Chapter 6

They stay at the shack for several days while the two of them recover. The first morning the three of them are back together, Fuu mentions going out on the guise of finding them fresh water and spices to go with their fish, but Mugen sees no point in hiding it, anymore. She already knows. 

He shrugs, and calls out as she reaches the door, “It’s fine as is.”

She doesn’t want to be away from Jin, either. It wouldn’t be fair to make her leave.

Jin spends most of the day sleeping. Mugen cooks, scraping the fish meat into a chipped little bowl and setting it beside Jin’s head. When he stays asleep too long after he’s made it, Mugen shakes him awake, mouth full of his own fish. 

“Food.”

Mugen has no desire to leave the hut while Jin is recovering. He thinks back on what he can remember of the nights they spent at the temple after Mugen had defeated Shouryuu, or even after everything that happened with Mukuro. He’d been so frustrated then, when Jin draped over him nearly every night, but he feels foolish now for trying to push him away. Just being on the other side of their tiny shack is like torture.

Thankfully, Jin is more sympathetic than he was. He doesn’t mention Mugen’s closeness at all when he’s awake. When half-asleep, he’ll curl against Mugen, or nest a hand in his hair. Maybe it does help them both. 

One night, Mugen tucks in close against Jin’s side, his face pressed against Jin’s shoulder. He’d been sure Jin was asleep already, but the arm underneath Mugen wraps over his back, fingers nesting in Mugen’s hair. The embers in the firepit are starting to choke in ash, but the light is still enough to see Jin watching him. His stare is harrowing, and Mugen looks away with a quiet sigh.

“Go back to sleep,” he mutters, keeping his voice low to avoid waking Fuu.

Jin doesn’t respond, combing his nails over Mugen’s scalp. Tension unspools from Mugen’s body at the touch. He turns and noses softly at the inside of Jin’s arm, breathing in the scent of him. Warmth spreads along his veins, heavy and comfortable. Without thinking, he laves his tongue along the inside of Jin’s wrist.

He feels Jin’s pulse speed up, just for an instant.

“Mugen —”

Entranced, Mugen’s eyes flick back to Jin’s face.

“I’m sorry,” Jin says finally. “For leaving that way.”

The air of the room changes instantaneously. He’s gotta be kidding. Mugen would almost think he was, if Jin were the kind of person who had a sense of humor. He wants to tell Jin not to apologize, that he’s the one who’s sorry. This whole thing is Mugen’s fault, anyway. With the both of them together, they may had even been able to save Sara.

Instead, Mugen just tisks. When he opens his mouth, all that comes out is, “Idiot.”

With the fire finally out, it’s too dark to see, but he hears the soft breath of Jin chuckling to himself. It doesn’t bother him. Jin is still scritching gently at the back of his neck when Mugen falls asleep. 

When he wakes up, Fuu is gone, and Jin is curled soft around Mugen’s body. He’s fast asleep, snoring lightly, and when Mugen shifts, he watches Jin shuffle to tuck back into Mugen’s side. He’s not sure where Fuu is, how exactly she had seen them before leaving the hut without a word, but Mugen can’t remember it ever mattering less than it does now. Jin is warm against Mugen, breathing in and out so rhythmically that Mugen is afraid he’ll fall back asleep. He leans forward and licks carefully at the pulse in Jin’s neck. When Jin huffs in his sleep, Mugen does it again.

Jin is barely awake when he swats Mugen off of him. “What’re you doing?”

Mugen stares down at him, noticing the way his angles stand out differently in the sunlight. He remembers Jin’s apology, and his own sticks awkwardly in his throat. Instead of saying it, he leans forward, dragging his tongue over Jin’s throat again.

Frustrated, Mugen’s name starts to fall from Jin’s mouth, but Mugen cuts him off, swallowing a quiet yelp of surprise as he covers Jin’s mouth with his own. The instant Mugen kisses him he’s terrified to break it. He has no idea what he’ll say, or what Jin might ask. There’s no way to excuse the way they left things. The way _Mugen_ left things. 

When he pulls away to breathe, Jin whispers, “What —?”

Mugen is on him again before he can ask. He doesn’t want to talk. He’ll just say the wrong thing. Jin lets out a quiet hum like relief, and Mugen feels something shiver down the back of his neck. Jin’s fingers fall limply over Mugen’s nape, almost like a weight holding him into the kiss. Without Mugen realizing, the control of the kiss is flipped. Jin pushes himself into a sitting position, holding Mugen to him by his neck. Mugen’s breath catches against Jin’s lips, and Jin sighs. His other hand curls around Mugen’s waist, fingers slipping under his clothes to brush against skin. The air around them has gotten too thin to breathe, and Mugen grabs a handful of Jin’s hair to hold him still. Forehead pressed to Jin’s as Mugen catches his breath, he crawls forward into Jin’s lap. The hand at Mugen’s waist clamps down tight, nails digging into Mugen’s skin, and Mugen keens, dragging Jin back to his mouth.

A crash behind Mugen makes them both jump. They both turn to see Fuu kneeling on the floor, righting the wooden bucket of water before it pours out entirely onto the floor. Her skin is bright red all the way down to where it disappears under her _kimono_ , and she’s pointedly avoiding eye contact with either of them.

“Sorry,” she shouts, voice coming out rushed and too-loud. “I would’ve knocked if, uh — I thought you’d — you’d still be asleep.” 

Without taking a breath, Fuu hefts the water bucket into the shack. “You should be careful,” she tells them without looking up from the floor. “You’re both still — I mean — just be careful. I’m gonna — I’ll just —”

She turns on her heel and leaves the hut before either of them can respond. When Mugen turns back to look at Jin, his eyes are still focused on the puddle at the door.

Awkwardly, Jin asks, “Should one of us follow her?”

Mugen sighs, dropping his forehead against Jin’s shoulder. “Yeah, yeah…”

As he gets to his feet, Jin wraps his fingers around Mugen’s wrist. He squeezes once, thumb pressing hard against his pulse, before dropping his hand back to his side. 

It doesn’t take much searching before Mugen finds Fuu angrily snatching up branches for firewood outside. Her skin is still bright pink, and she’s muttering to herself. Mugen smirks.

“Hey.”

Fuu jumps nearly out of her skin. When she spins around to face Mugen, all the branches she’s carrying spray along the ground. Eyes wide, she waves her arms, embarrassed.

“I’m sorry,” she says again. “I didn’t mean to — I should’ve known to knock. I’m sorry.”

Mugen rolls his eyes. “It’s not a big deal.”

He kneels to pick up the kindling Fuu dropped. She watches dumbly for a moment before bending to help. The two of them gather the branches in silence, Fuu keeps her eyes down.

“I thought you two would still be asleep,” she repeats, still ridiculously flustered. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”

Mugen shrugs, getting to his feet. “Ain’t the first time you’ve stuck your nose in where it didn’t belong,” he says with a huff. “Anyway, will you relax? You didn’t interrupt nothin’.”

It’s Fuu’s turn to roll her eyes, face still too pink to look as annoyed as she wants to. 

“Right, right,” she sighs, interrupting Mugen before he can tease her near-permanent blush. “Nothing at all. Let’s keep it like that, then.” 

She walks ahead of Mugen, back toward the hut. Over her shoulder, she shouts, “Your drawstring is undone, by the way.”

Mugen looks down, his arms full of branches. The drawstring of his shorts hangs limp at his waist, barely holding them up against his hips. How had he not noticed that? When he looks up, Fuu has run ahead.

When they make it back to the hut, Jin is stitching up his _obi,_ kneeling beside the dying fire. Water is boiling in the pot. When Mugen sits beside Jin, his hand slows, but only for a moment. He doesn’t look up from what he’s doing when he tells Fuu, “I wasn’t sure if this was for tea or washing, so I let it be.”

Fuu is still pink. It isn’t as easy for her to tease Jin. She’s still too worried about him to mock him. All she does is glance up at him for a moment before muttering, “Thank you.”

The next few nights recovering in the shack, Jin and Mugen sleep curled together. When they’re healthy enough to continue on, Fuu calls an end to their travel relatively early in the day. She pretends to be subtle when she makes sure to have enough money for two rooms, but for all her teasing and complaining, she’s no better than Mugen and Jin apparently are.

There’s no posturing or hesitation, this time. When Jin sets his swords down a the head of the nearest _futon_ , Mugen places his sword beside it. He doesn’t ask. If Jin doesn’t want him here, he can tell him to leave. He shrugs off his robe and discards his shirt without looking up. He hopes Jin doesn’t tell him to leave.

Jin doesn’t tell him anything. He takes his hair down and his glasses off, stripping silently out of his robe and hakama while Mugen stands next to the _futon_ , waiting for Jin to react. When Jin lays down, he reaches for Mugen’s hand.

Mugen doesn’t take it, instead kneeling gracelessly onto Jin’s lap, slamming him back against the futon. Jin yelps and grapples him, flipping Mugen onto his back. The healing wound on his side stings as it hits the ground, and Mugen grunts. Jin’s eyebrows shoot up.

“Oh good, you remember,” Jin hisses, the hint of a smirk on his face. His eyes are bright, toying with him. “Be careful.”

Mugen nods, and Jin bows over him to take Mugen’s mouth in his own. He doesn’t pull away as his hands make quick work of Mugen’s shorts. The instant Mugen kicks them off, Jin’s hands are on his face, nails combing through his hair. He tips Mugen’s chin until he’s breathless, gasping against Jin’s mouth, hands nested in his hair to hold him close.

His skin is so warm when Mugen isn’t in heat. Handprints burn into Mugen’s skin as Jin can’t keep still, pressing his fingers into Mugen’s ribs — careful of his healing wound — or dragging his hands up along Mugen’s arms.

He holds Mugen down by his wrists and Mugen whimpers, growing slick between his legs. Jin freezes, eyes wide as they stay trained on Mugen’s hands. Releasing, Jin sits up, and Mugen whines, reaching for him as Jin shifts off of him to reach his robe.

“Quiet, I just —” Jin is back in an instant, the red _obi_ looped in his hand. “Be still.”

Mugen swallows hard. Mukuro had done something like this once, during one of Mugen’s heats when they were young. Tied his arms behind his back with a coarse and sodden rope; left Mugen to crawl on his knees for days. 

Jin drops the sash harmlessly against Mugen’s arm and touches his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says, voice hushed. 

He looks as if he has more to say, but he doesn’t. He takes Mugen’s mouth in his own and lets his hands roam over Mugen’s skin, hard enough to chase a non-existent chill away.

_“You always start trembling when you think —”_

It’s stupid to remember now. What Mukuro had done wasn’t like this. Jin’s nothing like him. Jin’s hands are delicate and attentive. He’s no longer thinking of the sash at all, curled in close to nip gently at Mugen’s throat, one hand combing through his hair. They could easily leave it forgotten. But Mugen doesn’t want to. He snatches the _obi_ in his hand and shoves it back at Jin. When Jin sits up to take it, Mugen presents his crossed wrists without a word. 

There’s a moment of hesitation before Jin binds the _obi_ over his wrists, folding it in half lengthwise and then wrapping it three times over his tattoos. The knot is loose, but the moment Jin fastens it Mugen still feels his whole body sink into the floor like lead. _Wanted._

Jin’s hands are on his face again. “Look at me, Mugen, that’s it.” 

He listens for a moment before dropping his gaze to look at the _obi_ tied over his wrists. He gives his hands an experimental tug. The knot hangs slack, easy to twist inside of, but it holds secure. Hesitant or not, Jin has learned better than to patronize him. Mugen smirks. With his hands left unusable, Mugen wraps his legs around Jin’s waist and yanks him down, hoisting himself forward to kiss him.

It’s strange, how gentle Jin is. Even the last time they had fucked like this — without heat driving them both — Jin had been different then. Careful, but hungry. Now, he’s treating Mugen like gold. 

When Jin breaks the kiss, Mugen squints at him. “What’re — what’re you doin’?”

The look in Jin’s eyes is strange, lacking in the dark intensity he usually has. There’s something soft in them, now. Mugen finds it even harder to keep eye contact when Jin looks at him that way. It’s mortifying. His eyes fall to Jin’s chest. His skin is littered with scrapes and cuts, and Mugen wonders which ones he got from the fall, and which ones came from the tip of Sara’s spear. Mugen hoists himself up, dropping the tied hands in his lap and running his tongue over the puckering skin under Jin’s collarbone.

Jin watches him silently. He tucks a hand at Mugen’s waist as he sits back, and it causes something to tickle at the back of Mugen’s skull. He places his hands where his tongue had been, idly scratching at Jin’s scars. 

He should say something. He has to tell someone. The silence is suffocating.

“She could’ve beat me.” He takes a breath. “She _did_ beat me. Idiot let me win.”

It’s the wrong thing to say, he knows. He feels it in the way Jin’s heartbeat skips under Mugen’s fingers. 

Frustrated, Mugen asks, “When’d you figure it out? You knew, right?”

Jin doesn’t seem to want to admit to either question. “She was an exceptionally guarded woman.”

Mugen snorts. That’s not an answer. “ _You’re_ guarded.”

That makes Jin chuckle. “Yes, however —” He takes hold of Mugen’s elbow and leads him back against the floor. The room swims a bit, and Jin leans forward to nip Mugen’s throat. “I am promised to kill you, as well.”

Mugen scoffs. It sounds like a bad joke, now. After so long. He doesn’t even believe Jin as he says it. But if Jin wants to play along, Mugen isn’t going to be the one to withdraw first. 

He lifts his elbows and hoops them over Jin’s neck, tugging at the _obi_ ’s hold when he grabs a handful of Jin’s hair. “You wish.”

“Mm.”

Bringing up their duel had made him so angry before, but Jin barely seems to notice now. He noses tenderly at Mugen’s pulse, his tongue snaking over his skin just below the silk. Mugen’s eyes slide shut, and Jin’s hands trace over his sides, stopping at his hips.

His hands are burning. Mugen is almost sure they’re leaving brands on his skin. His heart skips at the thought, lungs tight with the effort it takes to breathe. Jin’s nails dig into Mugen’s skin as he drags Mugen’s hips into lap, and Mugen cries out as Jin slides into him, crouched over him to press him hard into the floor.

“I want you to look at me.”

Mugen’s eyes snap open on command. Jin is so close to his face, skin flushed and eyes bright. Strands of black hair are clinging to his face, and Mugen tightens his legs around his waist. The air around them is getting thick, too hard to breathe, and Mugen’s head starts spinning. He won’t let his eyes fall shut again, doesn’t even want to blink. Jin told him to look.

When the base of Jin’s cock starts to swell, Mugen eyes start to water. He squirms, helpless, moans from deep in his chest. The hand in Jin’s hair tightens, and Mugen can feel himself babbling.

“Please,” he repeats, over and over, his tongue heavy and dry in his mouth. “Please — _please_ I — I wanna be good.”

Jin cups his face, watching him closely. His fingers drag through the tears on Mugen’s face before he holds them out to Mugen’s mouth. Mugen closes his lips around them without hesitation, licking the salt from Jin’s fingers. There’s a weight in his chest as Jin watches him, comfortable and steady. 

Without warning, Jin pulls Mugen up until he’s sitting upright on Jin’s lap, sinking heavy onto Jin’s cock. He doesn’t look away from Jin, head bowed to keep eye contact as Jin thrusts into him. His throat tight as he starts babbling again. Jin’s eyes are clear and burning, pinned on Mugen’s face, and for a moment, he forgets which one of them isn’t allowed to look away.

One of Jin’s hands reaches up to touch his cheek, and Mugen melts into it, keening as Jin starts to lose his rhythm. The hand grabs hastily at Mugen’s hair, and Jin’s eyes roll back before his forehead drops against Mugen’s chest. Mugen still won’t look away. Jin told him not to, eyes trained on the dark nest of hair in his hands as Jin comes into him.

Jin growls, and Mugen feels it against his skin, more than he hears him speak. _“Mine.”_

He doesn’t mean to look away. The room goes white and all Mugen knows is where Jin’s skin touches his. His throat is raw, his body ragdoll limp, and every nerve beneath his skin is on fire.

Jin comes back first, close to Mugen’s face, breathing in his air. The edges of him stand out sharp against the white around him. At first, his eyes are closed, but then he looks up suddenly, as if Mugen has spoken, even when there is no way he has. The room returns in pieces, faded, less important, and Mugen realizes he’s on his back again. Jin moves sluggishly, hefting Mugen’s arms over his head to drop them back against the _futon._

When he reaches to release the knot, Mugen twists out of his reach. 

He means to protest, wants to say a clear, loud _no,_ but all that leaves his mouth is, “Nh.”

Jin understands, anyway. He runs his thumb between silk and skin and leaves his wrists wrapped together. When Mugen heaves his arms back around Jin’s neck, he allows it. Smiling to himself, he curls around Mugen and mutters, voice raw, “Sleep.”

Mugen is out as soon as the word leaves his mouth.

The next morning, he wakes up to a warm, damp cloth pressing into his skin. Water runs pleasantly down his neck. When he opens his eyes, Jin is smiling to himself, cleaning the sweat, slick and come from Mugen’s skin. Mugen watches, blearily. Jin has already dressed himself, his hair neatly pulled back and his glasses on. His expression peaceful and absorbed before he notices Mugen’s eyes on him. When Mugen tries to move, he discovers his arms are still bound. He glances up at his wrists, and Jin’s voice is light as he rinses the cloth in the bowl of warm water beside him.

“I didn’t want to free you before you asked to be,” he admits. “You seemed to prefer to stay cuffed through the night.” 

He wrings the excess water out of the cloth before meeting Mugen’s eyes. “Would you like me to release you now?”

It seems like a heavier question than it is. Mugen nods. The corner of Jin’s mouth turns up, reassuring, and he reaches over to tug the knot free. He leaves the _obi_ draped over Mugen’s wrists as he goes back to wiping him clean. For a moment, Mugen doesn’t move, pretending for a second that he still can’t. He waits until Jin sits him up to clean his face.

Mugen runs the sash through his fingers while Jin wipes his eyes, feels the seam where Jin had to mend it. When Mugen opens his eyes, Jin is watching his hands. 

Realizing himself, Mugen hands it back, dropping it over Jin’s hands, as Jin had done to him.

“It’s actually…” Jin smirks down at it as he picks it up. His voice is shaking, and Mugen squints at him. “I fashioned another, for my swords.”

Mugen raises his eyebrows, nodding carefully. He’s not sure why that would make Jin so flustered. Jin seems to be waiting for him to respond, so he offers, “Oh.”

“I wanted for you to keep this particular one.”

He hands it to Mugen before he can refuse. Mugen takes it, confused. “But I don’t —”

“Not for your sword. I thought you could… wear it, perhaps. On your wrist.”

Instantly, Mugen’s back draws tight. He doesn’t do that. No cuffs, no collars, no mating bullshit. Jin knows that. Mugen had said it right after the first time. He’d meant it.

He did, then.

Neither of them has said a word in what feels like hours. Mugen still hasn’t looked away from Jin’s face. He wants to speak, but his throat is too dry to swallow, and his tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. He meant it when he said it, but the silk in his hand is soft and calming. There’s no threat to it, really. He remembers the weight of the _obi_ holding him still through the night; and remembers months ago, the bracelet he’d slipped on in secret. The steady, solid echo of _wanted wanted wanted._ Would it always be like that? 

Finally, he manages to ask, “On my wrist?”

Jin nods, exhaling. “I thought — thought a collar might be… asking too much.”

Breaking eye contact, Mugen looks down to stare at the sash in his hand, wide and red. The seam sewn in is barely discernible, once identical in colour, the thread is only a shade darker scarlet in its newness against the faded silk of the _obi_. Mugen hadn’t noticed it earlier. It was never to mend a tear. He has to run his finger over the stitched design to make sure it’s there. The typhoon swell pattern of his scabbard.

“If this is still —” Jin reaches for it, embarrassed, but Mugen closes his hand around it. 

Mukuro had wrapped a heavy steel chain around his throat and pulled. _“You’re whatever kind of bitch I tell you to be.”_

Jin is shifting his weight from side to side as he waits for Mugen to respond. It’s unfamiliar to watch. Mugen’s not sure he’s ever seen him fidget.

“I’m sorry,” Jin says finally. “It was presumptuous of me to assume you may have changed your mind just because —” He holds out his hand. “Here. Give it back to me.”

Mugen scowls. “No.”

Startled, Jin’s hand drops back to his side. The twitch of a smile plays on his lips. 

“Why me, anyway?” The question falls out of Mugen’s mouth before he can think it through. 

Jin doesn’t seem to understand. He stares curiously at Mugen for a moment, and Mugen’s own thoughts answers first, niggling at the back of his mind. _Because you were there. And you were easy. First and only Omega to let him mount you. You’re just a good, obedient fuck._ If Jin notices him flinch, he doesn’t mention it, but it does seem to shake him out of his silence.

“I’m amazed that you manage to proclaim yourself with such confidence and yet you fail to actually believe in any of it.” 

Taken aback, Mugen’s mouth falls open. The back of his neck itches, the burn of embarrassment crawling down from his scalp. Jin is flustered enough to keep talking. “I’ve never encountered another person to take to tasks with such intense focus, or who so vehemently refuses failure. Not even in the _dojo,_ where students work their whole lives to perfect themselves. I don’t believe I’ll ever witness you give up on anything. I find it quite admirable.”

For a moment, they just stare at each other. Jin’s eyes drop momentarily to the _obi_ in Mugen’s hand. 

As the shock wears off, Mugen snorts. “That’s stupid.”

Jin frowns. “It isn’t.”

“All I do is fuck with your head,” Mugen admits. Jin raises his eyebrows.

“I’ve long since learned to trust your actions before your words, Mugen.”

Feeling scorned, Mugen drops his eyes. He doesn’t see how his actions are all that different. He bites his tongue before he says it. _Why do you trust me at all?_ He stares down at the _obi,_ tracing the design again. When he looks back up, Jin is still looking straight at him. 

“It’s not just ‘cause I’m the first Omega to hop on your dick, is it?”

He expects Jin to react similarly to the way he did back at the temple — maybe even so much as to take it back and storm off offended — but to Mugen’s surprise, Jin only tisks. 

“You’re hardly the first.” 

The statement isn’t nearly as surprising as the smug little smile on Jin’s face as he says it. Mugen sneers at him before his eyes fall back to the _obi_ in his hand. He runs his thumb over the stitches again, contemplating.

It’s strange, the dawning realization that he wants it.

Abruptly, Jin mutters, “I have no desire to take your sword from you.”

 _“I’m the only one around who has the balls to let you keep ‘em. But it’s only ‘cause I know you. You can’t do a thing when you’re like this, anyway, can you?”_ It’s not the same, but Mugen flinches at the memory. It’s not even close, but Mugen can’t look back up. Out of the corner of his eye, Jin frowns, his hand twitching.

“That was unfair of me. I hadn’t meant to —” He reaches out for the sash, but Mugen only eyes his hand curiously. “It’s cruel of me to treat this as an easy choice. You don’t have to decide this now.” 

“Well, I’m gonna,” Mugen snaps. “Just shut up a second.”

Jin rolls his eyes.

For a while, they’re both quiet. Mugen clenches his hands tight to keep them from shaking, but he can feel Jin’s eyes on him. He knows he sees.

Mugen hasn’t said anything, but Jin eventually whispers, “I wouldn’t —”

Mugen hears it, anyway: _I wouldn’t be like him._ Mugen doesn’t need to be told that. He can’t tell if that’s the reason why Jin stopped short, or if he just doesn’t want to think Mukuro is the only reason for Mugen’s hesitance. Mugen doesn’t want to think that, either.

“Must’ve run into about fifty Omegas along the way who’d be ready to throw themselves at you.”

For a moment, Jin doesn’t respond. “Does that anger you?”

“No.”

The answer comes too quickly, and Jin politely clears his throat. 

“My exposure training made it quite easy to ignore the attention.” He clears his throat again, shy. “Usually.”

“Your girl back in Hamamatsu —” Mugen starts, feeling foolish even as the words leave his mouth. “I mean, she was…”

“Shino was unaligned,” Jin says, voice falling a bit flat. 

Mugen regrets bringing her up. He feels a spike of bitterness at the sound of her name — that Jin even remembers her. He scowls down at the sash in his hand. It’s less common to collar someone unaligned, but knowing how old-fashioned Jin is, Mugen wouldn’t put it past him. He’d probably have prefered to give her his stupid _obi._

“I’m surprised you’re still so envious of her,” Jin says gently. “You have no need to be.”

“I wasn’t,” Mugen snaps. “I’m not.” He ignores the way a faint knot in his chest goes loose.

Jin smiles, but it fades quickly. After a long silence between them, he says awkwardly, “I don’t expect you to change.”

“Huh?”

“If you wore it,” Jin says, carefully gesturing toward the sash. “It doesn’t mean I would assume control over you.”

Mugen snorts. “That — yeah, see, you say that, but that ain’t how this works.”

“Perhaps not,” Jin says with a shrug. “But that is how _you_ work.”

It’s the way he says it so easily that Mugen notices. Jin doesn’t even seem to realize what he’s said. It isn’t a sacrifice, it isn’t something he’s debated and agonized over for days and days. Freedom isn’t a rarity he’s offering to Mugen out of pity. It’s just something he knows, something he accepts. Telling Mukuro ‘no’ always meant him or Kohza getting hit with an open palm, or the gun in their faces. Jin already hears it in response to most things. Mugen could say no to this, and nothing would happen. He can tell. Jin wouldn’t even treat him differently.

Regardless of alignment, of what Mugen decides, Jin sees him only as an equal. Mugen’s eyes fall back to the _obi,_ remembering the promise of their duel. Jin has always thought of him that way, even when it was only in reference to their swords.

Thrusting his hand back at him, Mugen demands, “Put it on me, then.”

After so much stalling, Jin takes a moment to react. He doesn’t seem to understand what Mugen is asking for several seconds. When it dawns on him, he sits up a little straighter. He takes the _obi_ from Mugen gingerly — as if convinced that a sudden movement may spook him. He doesn’t say anything before taking Mugen’s wrist. Jin’s fingers work quickly; meticulous. The band wraps around Mugen’s thin wrist a full four times, entirely covering his tattoos. Mugen watches in silence. 

“Pretty long,” he says finally.

Jin nods. “Mm.”

“ _Could_ be a collar.”

Jin’s hands hesitate in the middle of tying the knot. He looks up at Mugen over his glasses. “If you wish.”

Mugen looks down at his arm. Swallowing hard, he drops his hand to his side, letting the _obi_ slide off of him. Halfway has never been his style. When he bears his throat, Jin stares.

“Alright.” His voice comes out soft and choked. He clears his throat. “Turn — turn around.”

His fingers are so gentle as he wraps the _obi_ over Mugen’s throat. Mugen can feel them shaking. The _obi_ is soft and cool against Mugen’s skin. Nothing like the chain. Nothing like the rope. When the knot secures, it’s light; barely there. Just the hint of pressure when he inhales. It settles something twitching and cloying just under his skin. _Wanted._ Mugen’s eyes fall closed. The ends of the _obi_ hang down from the knot, silk tickling over his back. Jin’s hands are still pressed against Mugen’s skin, sliding heavily down his shoulders.

“Is that — is that alright?”

Mugen doesn’t open his eyes. He takes a long, deep breath and nods. Jin presses a kiss to the nape of Mugen’s neck, just above the knot. He drops his forehead between Mugen’s shoulder blades. The tension bleeds out of Jin so suddenly that Mugen can feel it. Jin breathes in deep and lets it fan out cool over Mugen’s skin. For a long time, neither of them speak. At last, Mugen clears his throat.

“So, is that it?”

“I believe so.”

Mugen finally blinks his eyes open. “No ceremonies?”

Jin runs a finger down Mugen’s spine. It sears into his skin like a brand. “I don’t care for such things.”

A snort. When Jin draws his head back at the sound, Mugen looks at him over his shoulder. “Who’re you tryin’ to fool?”

At that, Jin laughs. It’s low and soft, and Mugen realizes he’s never heard it before. It lights up something warm along Mugen’s spine, and he can’t keep himself from smirking. Jin is smiling at him, and Mugen itches to touch him. Jin’s eyes linger on the strap around Mugen’s neck, and something light and burning hot twists in his chest.

_Wanted._

“Hey —”

Jin snakes a finger between the _obi_ and Mugen’s throat, giving him a quick playful tug until Mugen crawls into Jin’s lap. He’s still smiling when he pulls Mugen into a kiss, one hand still tucked in the collar.

There’s a timid knock against the wall outside, and the two of them break apart.

“Are you guys awake?” Fuu asks from behind the door.

“Yes,” Jin answers, just loud enough to be heard. His voice comes out more breathless than he probably intends, eyes still on the red collar in his grip.

There’s a pause before Fuu asks, “Are you decent?”

Mugen smirks. He doesn’t look away from Jin when he calls out, “No.”

Fuu huffs from behind the door. 

“Jeez, guys, could you put a lid on it til we find the _samurai_ who smells of sunflowers?” Mugen isn’t listening, slipping Jin’s glasses off his face and kissing down his neck. “I’m not gonna let you two sloths off the hook just ‘cause it’s fun to play matchmaker.” 

Jin’s back goes rigid, his cheeks turning pink. When Mugen starts to laugh under his breath, Jin drops his hold on Mugen’s collar to push him off his lap with a flustered huff. Mugen stumbles into his shorts before sliding the door open. 

“Gotta say, you have the _best_ timing,” he grumbles with false venom.

At first, Fuu doesn’t notice, too busy rolling her eyes. 

“Oh please,” she snaps. “Knowing what a lech you are, I could’ve come by at any point and it would’ve always been…” she trails off abruptly as she catches sight of Mugen’s throat. “...bad timing.”

Her eyes dart to Jin, slipping his glasses back over his nose.

Mugen leans against the door, waiting for her to say something. He forces himself not to fidget. Keeping his hands tucked under his crossed arms to hide the way he can’t keep them quite still. Part of him still expects judgement, sneering, but it doesn’t come. She only looks back at Mugen with a dazed expression on her face.

When she points at the collar, Mugen stifles the instinct to cover it. He shrugs a shoulder to stop from looking to Jin. Over his shoulder, Jin hands Mugen his shirt and red robe.

“Yeah,” he mumbles to Fuu as he shrugs into his robe. “What about it?”

Jin crosses behind him in silence, taking his shoes in his hand. He picks up Mugen’s and hands them to him. Mugen takes them without looking. Finally, Fuu grins. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything. That’s almost worse.

“What’re you _smiling_ for?”

“Nothing,” Fuu says breezily, “I’m just — thinking.”

Mugen frowns. “About what?”

“Just trying to remember. What was that you said?” Fuu asks, putting a finger to her lips in mock thought. “Something about convenience?”

Mugen glowers at her. He opens his mouth to argue, but falters when he notices the smirk on Jin’s face as he pads silently past them, shoes dangling from his hand. Fuu turns on her heels to follow Jin down the hall. 

“Tell me you’re gonna use your powers for good,” she jokes. “Make him bathe more, for my sake.”

“Hey!”

“I’ll do what I can,” Jin answers, no inflection in his voice hinting to the shadow of a smile on his face. 

Mugen contemplates throwing a shoe at his head. As if reading his mind, Jin reaches his free hand behind him to give his wrist a brief, gentle squeeze.

“Though I must admit I quite like when he smells like this.”

Fuu makes a face.

“I smell like you, pervert.” Mugen points out gruffly.

Jin looks back and smiles at him.

“I’ll just have to keep it that way for everyone’s sake, won’t I?”


End file.
